"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.
She’s getting better at venturing slightly farther from the water, though only just. She can still hear the river behind her as she ventures into the forest today, finding herself somewhat mesmerized by these things called trees. It reminds her of the kelp forests, in a way, and yet not at all. There is nothing quite like it underwater, at least not in her piece of it. The kelp is hardly so tall and strong, instead drifting slightly with the current. It is imposing in its own way, certainly, at least to those who do not know how to navigate it, but it pales in comparison to this forest.
It is the trees that bring her farther from the shore, though her ears stay attuned to the sound of the running river behind her. She is careful not to lose that, careful not to venture too far onto land. The last thing she needs is to end up lost on dry land and wither away like the fish out of water she is. She might look like a horse, but she was not the same as these land creatures and she did not truly belong up here.
Still, there was something a bit wonderful about being able to visit somewhere new.
She’s been on a land a number of times now, growing more accustomed to it in a way she never had previously. There’d never been much reason in her old world to venture out of the water. Nowhere to go and nothing to see, certainly. Here though, it was an adventure, and part of her feels like a little girl again. To be certain, she is anything but, though the excitement is real and tangible. She is hesitant too, though not in the way Tsilutsuli was hesitant. She should be, but Rezza cannot help but look for possibility here rather than fear. It is this hope that brings her back to the land again and again, trying to find whatever it is that might be worth hoping about.
He had heard rumors that after the earthquake—triggered by the way they had drilled into the ground at the command of a god that had been nameless to him before that day—another kingdom had revealed itself from beneath the sea, while simultaneously flooding an existing one. Unease stirs in his chest at the thought of this; that a single action can have such a profound ripple effect. He had not been born here, and while the other residents seem to brush it off as something that just ‘happens’, he could not find it in himself to be so nonchalant about it.
He was no stranger to magic but the kind that flows here felt unpredictable, almost feral. He thinks that the god that had directed them to dig must have known that in doing so there was a risk of disturbing the well of magic that lived inside of it, and while he supposes he should not be surprised—it seemed to be a trend that gods only wreaked havoc, that they did not actually much care for any that existed in the mortal world—he still looks back on the experience with a flicker of resentment.
He had learned his lesson, though.
The mountain had changed him, both physically (lightning now flashed across the storm-cloud coloring of his skin, and a different thread of magic had woven itself into his veins) and mentally, because he looked out onto this world with a newfound skepticism and mistrust. He does not go to investigate the flooded lands or try to find the shores of the underwater kingdom, and he keeps clear of the supposed ruins that had been unearthed. He has had his fill of this land’s magic and surprises, and he seeks out instead the solitude and quiet of the forest.
It’s why when he accidentally stumbles across the mare in the forest he inwardly recoils, though outwardly he merely comes to a standstill. Through a thick tangle of forelock he watches her with a guarded expression, taking in the pale shimmer of her body and her oddly black eyes. There is something otherworldly about them, in a way that is equal parts captivating and unsettling, and he notices that he had likely stared in silence for a heartbeat too long. “Apologies,” he says in the deep rumble of his voice—the promise of thunder seemingly ever-present inside of his chest. His face, though far from unkind, remains walled off from where he stands a few paces from her, lightning sparking across his skin in the shade of the trees that tower above them. “I didn't realize anyone else was out here.”
appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.
She knows nothing of gods, for they did not have them, nor anything akin to them. She knows of magic, but not in the way they do here, for they did not have that either. Baltians had their own magic, but whatever they were born with was all their was. The land was not magical. There was no reservoir. At least, not in her lifetime, which was undeniably rather long. She has seen a lot in her many years and yet, she has seen nothing quite like what had happened to them after the earthquake. She has seen nothing quite like Beqanna.
The one who finds her today is young. So many of them are so young, and even the oldest that she has met hadn’t seemed very old at all. Do they not live long lives here? Do they not even live full lives? She hasn’t asked the question, though she’s seen no evidence to suggest that they do. Still, just because she hasn’t seen it yet, doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Maybe it’s only the young ones brave or fool enough to talk to her. Bravery and foolishness, like blessings and curses, are just two sides of the same coin.
This one is not like the others. He stands staring, and she lets him, entirely aware of the guarded expression in his eyes. She, on the other hand, appears very relaxed about the whole situation, not particularly bothered that he’s staring (she has been stared at enough in her life that it has long since stopped bothering her) or that’s he’s guarded (smart boy). Besides, it gives her time to look back, noting the lighting that flickers across his skin, and when he speaks, the thunder in his voice. They were interesting, these Beqannaians. What else could he do? What exactly was he?
She offers him a polite nod and a small smile as he speaks, accepting the apology and simultaneously telling him it did not bother her without ever saying a word. His excuse brings a slight chuckle out of her though. She cannot help herself, though it’s not a meanspiried laugh at all, simply amused. “I can help you work on those excuses of yours, if you ever want,” she offers, and the offer sounds strangely genuine. She might not belong here, but she has learned now at least what the common lands of Beqanna are, and there are decidedly others around. The forest is different from the meadow or the river though. Here she cannot necessarily hear other equines, but she can feel their minds all the same. “I’m Rezza,” she offers, something of an olive branch. He can take it or leave it.
He did not have much experience with others, having mostly kept to himself, and what little interaction he’s had wasn’t always positive—such as what transpired on the mountain. Beqanna is still new to him, or at least, it is in comparison to those that had been born here. He did not know every notch of history, and their mannerisms and way of conversing did not come easily to him yet. Names and lands meant virtually nothing to him, because he did not know where anything or who anyone was.
All this to say, whatever humor she had been aiming for missed its mark. He blinks his gray eyes at her, his facial expression still unreadable, mostly because he did not entirely understand what she was getting at. Clearly, there were other residents in this land—hundreds of them. But the forest was heavily wooded and not made for large gatherings, hence its attraction to those that desired solitude, or at least quiet. There were warnings whispered of wandering too deep, of a darkness that churned at the heart of it, which likely attributed to the reason he could walk for hours without coming across anyone else.
“Let me rephrase that,” he says, his tone even, almost flat. “I didn’t realize there was anyone in this direct vicinity.”
There is nothing in his expression to hint at what he thinks of her, though truthfully, it’s mostly indifference. She is, as near as he can tell, just like everyone else here. He does not know enough to recognize what would set her apart from the native residents; he has no way of knowing that she is nearly just as new to this place as he is.
She offers her name, and he gives a nod of his head. “Tumult,” he replies, and there is a shadow of a smile on his storm-laden lips, though it does nothing to lighten his eyes. “What brings you to the forest?” He asks, and it almost could have seemed like a question born of small talk, until he adds drily, “I’m assuming it’s your love of crowded places.”
03-17-2022, 12:50 PM (This post was last modified: 03-17-2022, 12:50 PM by Rezza.)
appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.
Well, they have one thing in common anyway. She’s not exactly a Beqanna native either and she’s still trying to figure them out. Mostly, they seems like Baltians in all the ways that matter. The only major, glaring difference she’s found is the fact they live on land. Oh, and their access to magic on this place they (creatively) call the Mountain. Not that she tells anyone that they don’t have that sort of access to magic in Baltia….
Not one for humor, she thinks. Got it. Less fun, sadly, but here she is and here he is and so she might as well stick it out. Not that he seems like he’s going to be a particularly productive conversation, but still, you never know. Besides, she can just cheat, and with that flat tone and unreadable expression, he leaves her little choice (not that she wouldn’t do it anyway). She can feel his mind easily enough, and so she lets the thoughts flow in. Rezza never pokes or prods, never makes herself known, but just lets the stray thoughts find her. If he’s not going to be all that fun to converse with on the outside, maybe his mind will yield something more useful.
So far, his thoughts aren’t much better. He doesn’t seem to know where she is from, so far as she can tell, anyway, and his overall impression of her is about as flat as everything else about him. Excellent. Really. She’s so excited.
At least he offers a name, and she gives him a pleasant smile and a nod to acknowledge that she heard it. His next words bring a smile to her lips though and a light chuckle. Was that humor? Does he even know that it might count as humor? She actually can’t quite tell with this stormy boy, but regardless, she is very good at faking it where conversations are concerned. ”I’ve rarely seen trees in my life,” she says, which might give him a clue as to where she is from if he’s perceptive. ”I’ve been rather enjoying the view.”
