"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
Bedtime had always been an interesting time in the Keav and Bastille household. It always took a minute to be able to settle the girls down and get them together on their little beds of sand the their father had created for them. It was only then, when they were quiet that their mother with her eyes as blue as the deep ocean and her reckless smile that Astana so mirrors would gift onto them a bedtime story. They would then be plunged into a world made up of pirates on the open ocean, Keav telling them how their ancestors traveled to the tiny island where Keav was born. Or she tells stories about star horses and how they float up above in the night sky. Astana, for her part, loved when her father would occasionally lea the story about dragons and golden horses. But she loved too hearing stories of the dreamer king and his kingdom that seems like so long ago. Astana loved stories. “Is that the end?” She would always ask when it was over. “That’s the end of this story, yes.” Her mama would say with a kiss on her tiny forehead. “But I don't want it to be over,” she pleaded one night. “Sometimes,” her mama said, “You have to let one story end for a new one to begin.”
The star girl wanders because what else was there to do in a land where she has no where to go. Oh the beauty of having no direction, of having no sense of either duty or responsibility. Astana was free to roam as she pleased. This is her first winter, but not quite her first time seeing know. Her mother had often taken the girls to the mountaintops where they could see patches of the alabaster flakes. Her knees are high as she moves across the land, as if she were a princess of a mystical realm. When she is really just a silly girl that has strayed too far from home, from her parents, her twin sister, and their beloved desert sands. Cupped ears atop her head press forward with the sound of rushing water. It calls to mind the stories of the pirates, and how her mother used to speak of the ocean, and how sometimes, after she would be gone a full day and night, she would return with smell of salt and sea etched in her pearlescent skin. Maybe what she was hearing was that very ocean!
Oh, to be young again—and yet, I do so pity them.
She emerges from the tree line thinking maybe she will see the grandeur of the white caps her mother always talked about, the infinite blue. So unlike their desert home, and yet, so much alike as well. “The dunes, out there, in the ocean, they move, Astana,” her mother had told her. But, her dreams of seeing the ocean are washed away as she sees it is only a river. Well, at a time like this, there was really only one thing for a little girl to do. She lowers that pretty little head of hers and a frown finds her face and for just a moment she lets herself pout, before flinging herself headfirst into the river.
The water only rises to her knees, but all in all, this was not the brightest of decisions in winter and as quick as she was in, she dashes out with a sharp inhale of cold, frosty air. “Cold, cold, cold,” she says as she dances back and forth. Her head lowers, as if her little tufts of warm breath could unthaw her freezing legs. “I don't think I like this whole winter business very much.”
He had remained in Taiga ever since the strange encounter with the genie-mare; the one that had called him to the meadow at the base of the mountain, and compelled him to try and do things against his nature. There was a part of him that was not entirely sure if any of it had been real. When he had awoken the next morning, his legs had felt as though they were not connecting to his brain. His movements were awkward, his legs often becoming entangled with each other when he walked too fast. It had worried his mother, who then kept touching his neck and forehead, certain that he must be warm with fever. Even though he was freshly two years old, Briseis’ worry for her children was unshakable, and she fretted over him as if he was a newborn. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to be irritated with her. He knew that he was terribly lucky to have a mother (and a father) that cared about him, and so he let her preen and fuss over him until she was certain he was fine.
Eventually, whatever had befell him wore off.
That adventure, be it real or only a fever-dream, had ignited something inside of him. He couldn’t say that he had the same wanderlust as his mother, but something was drawing him outside of Taiga. He was beginning to see how much more there was to the world than just towering trees, and his father’s shadows, and maybe somewhere out here, he would find something to call his own. His family, all of them black, and most of them wielding some sort of shadow manipulation, had never done anything to make him feel as though he didn’t belong. Yet that didn’t change the fact that he felt completely separated from them. Where they were black as night, he was roaned – almost slate blue in appearance. Where they could open shadow portals, or teleport through the darkness, or any other variety of magic, he had been born like his mother; with nothing.
It wasn’t them that he felt like he had to prove anything to; it was to himself.
When he left Taiga today, he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He just assumes he will know when he sees it. The riverlands were blanketed in a layer of snow, and the watery winter light reflected off the bright white of it. His darker body was a stark contrast against it as he walked, his skin pulled taut in an attempt to ward off the cold. Even though he had just turned two, his body had clearly outgrown the softness of childhood. His muscles had grown hard, with bulk beginning to match the growing length of his legs. He looked out at the world with quiet brown eyes, and though they had grown more somber as his childish excitement diminished, there was still a youthul spark glowing in the depths of them.
Something pale catches his eye, and the sound of a soft voice floating above the sounds of the river draws his attention. He sees her, and the first thing he notices is that she is alone. She appears to be only slightly younger than Wrenley, his little sister. Perhaps it was from growing up with an overprotective mother, but he knows Briseis would never have let any of them play in the current of the river at that age, unsupervised.
And so when he approaches, it is out of concern, but he disguises it with friendliness. “Hey,” he says once he is close enough, his black lips curving into a crooked, boyish smile as he watches her dance around in the snow in an attempt to warm her legs back up. “Bet you won’t make that mistake again, huh?” He doesn’t get too close to her, but he is close enough to catch her scent. She smells of the outside, of other lands, and while this confuses him, it also snags his attention. “I’m Torryn. Shouldn’t you be with your mom?”
07-08-2019, 03:36 PM (This post was last modified: 07-22-2019, 10:04 AM by Astana.)
Astana’s world had been so small in the beginning. She had known only her mother, her father, and her twin sister. They had all been contained to their little desert home. Astana had spent her entire life until this very point exploring the every rolling dunes and making trips to the Oasis where she and her twin sister would splash around in the water, enjoying a break from the heat. They would play hide and go seek in the foliage of the Oasis, sneaking up on each other only to erupt in a series of girlish giggles when they would find one another. It was the makings to be the perfect childhood. But Astana had earned her mother’s wandering heart and wanderlust burned like fire in her veins. She was anything but content to remain in her sandy home forever, building sandcastles and watching the sun set over the dunes.
And so she had left the desert and made her way to the outer edges, only to catch sight of a black colt with eyes like spring time moving along, as if he had all the freedom in the world. He looked like he was going on an adventure and Astana was just dying to find out what it was. Without delay she immediately marched off and had been walking ever since, only stopping when she arrived in this strange new land.
She saw great sights on her way here, but there had been a part of her that hoped this mysterious black colt with green eyes like two tiny emeralds was leading her towards the ocean. Much to her disappointment, this was not the case. Astana thought perhaps maybe she was not destined to see the endless blue water splayed out before her like a tangible infinity. She would just have to live in the images of her mother’s stories and the dreams she had shared with her.
She wiggles and moves, trying to work warmth back into her legs. The desert child made from gold was certainly was not accustomed to the cold climates. But Astana thinks nothing of being alone, she sees no danger in it, she holds no fear in this big and new land that splays around her. She is content to simply stand beside the river, even if she was currently a bit cold. Astana takes in the world just a single piece at a time.
And it seemed as if a new piece were about to be added, and her world grows by one.
She really needs to learn to start paying better attention. But in Astana’s world, monsters existed in stories and the boogie man had an ugly face. Monsters were so easily spotted, so when a stranger finds her beside the rivers, she jumps in surprise, but smiles with joy. That golden face illuminating as the sun sparkles off of it. Its rays find her eyes and send a multitude of colors gleaming as she looks into his brown eyes. “Hello,” she says then, all at once stopping her dancing and bringing her legs close together, as if to provide some illusion that she had never been dancing around in the first place with such careless abandon in an attempt to warm her tiny body. She tilts her head then with a lilting tone of laugh brushing against her lips. “No, I don't think so, I very well may have to wait until spring,” she says. “My home was warm allll the time, I’m from the desert,” she adds. “You’re Torryn,” she says, nods, repeating his own name on her tongue as if to gauge the feeling of it. So little of names ran through the mind of the little girl that each new one she obtained was like a little trinket she was able to keep tied to her memory. “Okay, that’s cute, I think,” she says, nods again, not entirely sure what she means, just knowing it is a word she has heard her parents speak, always in a kind tone. “Where are you from?” She asks, extending that little nose forward, as if maybe she could gain a hint. She pulls back then, looking up at him with diamond eyes speckled with flakes of sapphire. “I’m Astana, I come from far away.”
Despite growing up with several siblings – except his far older sister, who only came around occasionally – he had little experience with others his age. He didn’t realize this until this very moment, when it occurred to him that he wasn’t entirely sure what kids even do or talk about. He knew the kind of games his family played – in and out of the shadows, spinning them and melting into them, and the forest of Taiga was haunted with their disembodied laughter. But as for the rest of them, he wasn’t so sure. Hopefully this girl he had stumbled across wouldn’t expect much of him.
“The desert? That’s interesting,” he isn’t really sure if any of the current lands could be considered a desert. He knows Loess is bare and dry, but he isn’t sure if it is as much of a desert as the old kingdom Dewdrop Desert had been – a name that he has only ever heard murmured in passing, as it was long before his time. “What made you decide to come here?”
She says his name is cute, and he can’t help but to laugh, before scoffing in mock offense, “My name isn’t cute, it’s masculine and...and strong.” She extends her nose towards him, and instinctively he reacts by reaching forward as well, the black of his muzzle brushing just lightly across her pale one. Maybe it’s because she reminds him of his little sister, because she is younger, but he cannot shake the sudden urge to protect her that is taking over him. “I live in Taiga. It’s a forest.” There’s a moments pause, regarding her curiously before offering a little bit hesitantly, “Maybe someday I can show you. If you ever want to see it, I mean.”
Astana and her twin had been glued to each other since day one, having only separated when Astana had taken off, eager to explore the realms beyond their family’s patch of sand dunes. But Etoile and her had been so close, her twin sister with her quiet grace and Astana with her warm confidence, they made quite a startling pair. The fact that their mother’s heart could never truly belong to their father, that she still felt like she belonged to someone else, hardly crossed her mind. She just knew her mother’s dazzling white coat, her father golden body, and the blue eyes of her sister. All of them, shining and glittering against the backdrop of rolling dunes and desert sun.
“Yeah, there was a ton of sand,” she says, not fully encompassing how much sand there truly was in her home. “But there was an Oasis in the middle where our friend fox lived.” Friend was a bit of an over reach there. The fox, while it certainly traveled to the Oasis for water, often hid underneath one of the many bushes when the family approached to drink their fill, slipping out only when he thought they were not looking or at night when they had drifted off to sleep.
What made her decide to come here? She thinks for a moment, diamond eyes glassy with consideration. “I think I would like to see the ocean one day,” she says then with a reckless grin so much like her mother’s. “My family said leaving the desert wasn't safe, my dad was even hunted by a dragon for years,” she says. Bedtime stories in the Keav and Bastille household had been interesting, that much was certain. “But, I think it has been pretty safe so far,” she says with an affirmative nod of that white golden head. “Have you seen any danger?” She asks, tilting her pretty face for a moment in curiosity as those diamond eyes specked with sapphires peer out at him beneath long, blonde lashes.
“Oh?” She says in surprise as he laughs, declaring just exactly what his name was, cute certainly not being it. “My apologies,” she says with a curt nod. “If you became a knight you could be Sir Torryn, you know,” she offers, imaging knights in armor being perhaps the strongest things of all, able to take down dragons and rescue princesses from towers. His black muzzle brushes against the pale, golden of her own. Each hair forged with that precious metal reaching up to touch him as she feels the warmth of his breath and his skin delve into her own. “A forest, wow, I cant imagine actually living in a forest, do you see owls?” That the wise owl lived in a tree in the forest was common story to tell. Her eyes go dreamy as she listens to his young voice. “I would love to see it,” she says. “Do the leaves change colors in the fall? I have heard how beautiful that time of year is,” she dreams aloud. “The desert never changed colors, a sandy tomb.”
“Danger?” He repeats after her with an amused smile and a tilt of his head. “I mean, I haven’t personally seen any danger, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” Beqanna was, in fact, riddled with danger. Not everyone here was friendly, even if he had not personally experienced it. He knew, better than anyone, that it was not the shadows that the monsters hid in – his family were the shadows, and he has never seen his father bring harm to anyone. It was those so bold to expose themselves in the light that were the true monsters. The ones that weren’t afraid of being seen.
“Being a knight would be cool. I’m not sure how good I would be at slaying dragons though.” He likes to think himself brave, but he isn’t sure if he is that brave. He has caught glimpses of the many dragon horses that live here; some just a flash of scale and sharp teeth, while others could morph themselves into a dragon entirely. Maybe if he had inherited something from his father he could it within himself to take on such a foe, but as it is, he just a plain boy.
She asks if there are owls in the forest and the question catches him off guard, coaxing a slight frown to his face as he says with a hint of uncertainty, “Um...yeah, there’s owls. Have you never seen one before?” He hadn’t expected there to be so many questions and such fascination surrounding his forested home, and he laughs quietly with a shake of his dark head before saying, “Some of the trees do, but most of them are evergreen trees. Sylva is a forest though that always looks like autumn year round.” Regarding her curiously, and with a faint quirk of his brow, he asks her, “What was your old home like? Sounds like it must have been really different from Beqanna.”
She has always been one for stories of adventure. The pirate stallion that had gotten stuck at sea and found a tiny island to survive on. The dragon that chased her father around the world attempting to collect him and his gold coat as his own. The king who had been stolen away from his kingdom and had to make friends with enemy to return. The story of how all the stars feel from the sky and a little spends her entire life finding them and putting them back.
“I haven't seen very much either,” she confesses, no matter how much she wishes the statement were untrue, but Astana was no liar. The filly made of gold has no idea how lucky she was that Torryn was the one who found her jumping out of the river rather than one of the monsters that Beqanna harbors within its walls of ocean water. This day could have easily turned into something much sadder and much more deadly, and full of that danger Astana was so curious about. She ought to count her blessings. But, the diamond eyed girl is innocent with those long lashes blinking up at Torryn and she is not living in a world of possible outcomes, but just this current one instead. Where the little girl with dreams of stars and the ocean is very much safe within the company of the blue roan boy with eyes dark like the forest he comes from.
Astana has heard the stories of dragons, from this land and others, dragons that have tried to hunt down her father, but for all her wandering, Astana has yet to see one in her short life. She likes to pretend she would be brave enough, but in the shadows of night with just herself for company, the little girl isn't so sure. She looks to him not like he is just a plain boy, but with eyes lighting up like he is something special and she is so lucky to see it. “I bet you could, you look pretty brave to me,” she offers. Astana was so confident in her hopes and admiration for others that it is doubtful her mind will be changed.
“Sorry,” she says suddenly, ducking her head, embarrassed by her question. “I havent,” she admits, fidgeting beneath his dark eyes. “I was born in the desert and I lived there until I came here,” she says. “We had coyotes, snakes, and scorpions you had to watch out for, but no owls,” she says. She wants to ask more questions, but she is buried beneath a layer of uncertainty. “Wow, your home sounds amazing,” she says with an air of admiration to her soprano voice.
His question brings images back to her home, the desert she had been surrounded by with her sister as her main playmate in those days. “Well, there was tons of sand, it was like how I imagine the ocean looks, but tan and golden in the sun instead of blue,” she offers. “We lived in a tiny Oasis the had water,” she continues. “It was really hot, we didn't have a winter, especially not like this,” she says with a laugh, diamond eyes coming to rest upon his young, dark face.
