"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
The land smelt of others. The scents on the breeze ranged, from fearful to delighted to downright terrified. Saragon lifted her nose to the air and drew in a deep breath. Stallions would be near, to her dismay. Here, she knew, claimings had happened. It was not something she desired for herself but something that would, nonetheless, most likely happen. A fem was nothing but a possession to the stallions, and it was in this that her fate was sealed.
She trotted along the land, her head swaying this way and that, ears pricked forward determined to catch scent, sight, or sound of the stallions before they approached her. She was antsy, uncertainty coiling in her stomach. Her mother had warned her of strange stallions and even as an adult she still was cautious around them. Stallions, her mother had always said, would force and take what they wanted without regard for the consequence. Stallions, her mother had said, did not care to take care of the children the bred nor did they care to exercise restraint when it came to a mare. Stallions, her mother had warned, were to be avoided.
But one could not survive the winter without a stallion, without a herd and so she had been driven to this place, this place where stallions found their mares and stole them away, to find that herd. Horses were herd animals and she was no fool. To stay safe, to hope to survive the winter, she needed to find a herd, a home.
She picked her way delicately through the grass of the fields. She drew nearer a group of horses and diverted her path as so to avoid them. Her stomach rolled with anxiety once more and she paused to graze. She could hardly eat, but to keep her strength up she knew she needed to.
Her father had made her a female, but Djinni has not always stayed that way. Mostly, yes, she remains her original sex. There are some days - days like today - that she changes.
Djinni is a he today, a lithe warm blood stallion that travels through the Field on dark legs, his dapple grey pelt matching the snow-heavy clouds overhead.
He passes by a cluster of horses, uninterested in such a large group. Instead, his dark eyes catch on a lone black mare. She is grazing separately from the group, but is clearly aware of them. Does she think then dangerous? Or does she avoid them for the same reason that Djinni does?
There's only one way to know for sure, and so Djinni pauses his travel across the sweeping plain to stand beside the mare. He keeps a comfortable difference between them; just close enough to talk really.
"Hey," he says with a friendly smile, "How're you? I'm Djinni."
ooc: so teeeeechnially she's not a stallion but she is for the moment :p
The mare started at the voice. She pulled her head up her ears pinning to her head as she appraised the stallion. He was uncomfortably close to her--perhaps acceptable for his standards but certainly not for hers.
"Back off," she rumbled at him, keeping her teeth bared. She didn't trust him. She didn't really trust anyone and a stallion was at the very bottom of her list of horses to trust. His smile was friendly but body language could be deceiving.
"My name doesn't matter," she snapped as she scented the wind. No other horses were due to appear out of nowhere to her relief. She took a few steps back. "What do you want?" The last was said in near growl as she slowly raised her head. The stallion wasn't big, a good sign if she'd ever seen one, nor did he seem aggressive. She could appraise the situation.
"Dijanni, was it?" she asked after a moment. "Come to claim the little lonely mare?" Her voice didn't lose its aggression as she stared at him suspiciously.
Surprising the black mare had not been Djinni's intention, and the dappled horse takes a few steps backward as the mare visibly startles. He's still moving when she tells him to "back off", and while the words are unexpected given her physical reaction, Djinni doesn't quite feel that they're justified.
He hadn't been that close - and even if he had - isn't that what one expects from the crowded pasture that is the Field?!
His smile has already disappeared as she snaps that her name doesn't matter (He hadn't even asked for it!), and it turns to a glower as she moves even farther away. There had been no action of threat of violence on his part, and yet this total stranger is acting as though he's going to charge in and claim her, forcing her off to some desolate herdland to bear foals for the rest of her sad life.No one does that anymore; they're civilized! And then she voices the ludicrous idea that he'd dismissed as though it's the obvious situation, and Djinni feels an uncomfortable curl in the pit of his stomach.
It feels a lot like guilt.
He does not like it, and so he buries it in something he is far more comfortable with.
“Why?” He asks, the teasing lilt in his voice and eyes a perfect contrast to the distrust and suspicion on hers. “Are you waiting for someone to come and claim you?” Body language might be deceiving, but the way the grey stallion shifts his weight and leans to the side makes it obvious that he’s not about to lunge forward and attack. “If you are,” he adds, “I’m sorry to disappoint.”
current appearance: medium warmblood build dapple grey stallion
The stallion moved out of her bubble and she relaxed visibly. Her ears went up and she lifted her head to study the stallion. He appeared to be telling the truth. She took a cautious step toward him and scented the air again. He appeared to be the only stallion around her. Perhaps she had overreacted slightly.
She was still on edge however and she kept her suspicious stance as the stallion shifted from friendly to teasing. Perhaps that wasn't that odd of a transition but he seemed to be handling her outburst remarkably well. Did he have some sort of agenda?
Not everyone needed to be treated with such suspicion, she supposed. When he assured her that he was not going to be claiming her to drag her off to some herdlands and force her into bearing his children, she relaxed completely. A thought crossed her mind. The thought grew into a plan.
"I may have overreacted," she managed, as close to an apology as she could get, "I have heard stories of stallions and I thought--I didn't know you were only coming to be friendly." She had to get this stallion to stay near her. As long as he was here the likelihood of other stallions coming was reduced and wasn't that what was truly important.
The stranger relaxes as soon as he's moved away, and Djinni knows for certain that he'd crossed some invisible boundary she had. The grey horse has always had less preference for personal space than did most horses. Perhaps that comes from being raised in a family where physical touch was the method of affection, or from possessing a natural charm and various striking appearances that lure in even strangers.
This particular appearance that he wears is not an especially uncommon one (medium sized and grey, Djinni could be damn near anyone at first glance), but nor is it especially striking. He'd not expected a greeting with open arms, but the hostility that Saragon had greeted him with was startling. Still, they've moved past that now - she's even given him her name!
“I’d hoped that such stallions would have long since disappeared from Beqanna,” he replies, ”But there are always those that linger. I suppose I can’t blame you for being suspicious”. The last word is emphasized more than the others, perhaps prodding a bit at the vigorous hostility that had come over her a moment ago. Still, the dappled stallion is smiling, leaning away, and there is no malice in his expression. “So, if you’re not here to be claimed, what are you here for?”
current appearance: medium warmblood build dapple grey stallion
