"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
Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear it will not die
Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vines
This time when she walks into a completely foreign kingdom, she’s not off her rocker. She doesn’t roll in the sand dunes and panic when the king jokingly mentions her ruining his favourite patch of sand. She doesn’t hide between the Queen’s legs at meetings, nor does she go mental when water splashes her. The crippling anxiety no longer holds Noori; the sun-freckled doe has disappeared.
In her stead, Mother Spring stands proudly.
The border of the Dale phases her little, and after a brief consideration of all that Scorch had ever taught her, Noori begins trotting briskly through the green kingdom. Yes, she thinks to herself with immense pleasure. This will do nicely. Not made of sand, not made of shadows. Smiling a pretty, secret smile, the white-barked woman tosses her red willow fronds from her eyes with a twinkly whinny, like a quick running brook.
Let them come to her, oh, yes. Let them come to the Mother.
Of course, Ramiel is young and only aware of the differences between now and then because his mother has told him. She said that before her mother’s time, even, the landscape of Beqanna was completely dissimilar. Horses hadn’t carried so many extras with them, hadn’t worn as many horns of exotic animals or had such strong powers that nearly rivaled the magicians. There hadn’t even been as many magicians as there seems to be now, roaming the lands in search of their next, great show.
Ramiel himself had been completely normal once, too. Before Carnage had pulled him from his childhood, he’d been a spindly black colt, unremarkable in every way (except for the showing of angelic blood as gold streaks in his hair). But that trip had changed everything. That trip had changed him to the very core of his being. He hardly remembers himself before he began to die over and over. Life has a funny way of taking on more significance when you’ve seen the Other Side.
He is very much alive as he walks about the kingdom. My kingdom, he reminds himself, one I am solely responsible for now. It’s all happened so fast that it’s hard for him to comprehend. Barely a year had passed since he returned from Carnage’s mission before his father had woken him that morning and given him the crown. Everything weighs heavily on him, now. Every choice is not his own; there are others to consider in every action he takes. But the kingdom has raised him, and though he is still relatively young, he knows he will always try to do right by them.
The greying stallion heads towards the border, intending to make the long trek to the Field, when he comes across her. A mare, he thinks, if he can call her that. Her white skin is cracked and light glows faintly underneath it. It reminds him of his sister, but in all other ways, it is clear this woman is something far different. Crimson willow branches trail down her neck and hindquarters, as if she’s replaced her mane and tail with bits of nature. Her eyes are the strangest of all, shining a vibrant green and lacking a pupil. She reminds him of the living earth, of a walking plant. She is all things he is not – life while he is death – and it draws him in like a moth to a flame.
“Welcome to the Dale, I’m Ramiel.” He ignores the fact that she’s similarly ignored their borders. The mare looks like she’s been through enough (looks like she’s just been birthed straight from a willow tree, in fact) and possibly doesn’t know every social nicety the kingdoms impose. A polite smile curves his lips but he’s more intrigued than gracious at this point. “May I ask your name and what you seek here?”
Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear it will not die
Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vines
Carnage – the creator of all mischief. Besides the seasons of course. Noori fancied that they stood on a higher plying ground than the white devil; they did exist in an alternate universe, after all. Nevertheless, trouble makers of all sorts could be found in Beqanna. Winter had found Noori, Carnage had found Ramiel – and they both proved themselves champions. One of life, and the other of death. The yin to her yang.
Little did she know, this young black man who approached is the king of this land, and a shifter. Less did she know that her sister Ea was supposedly to be Queen here, ruling beside him. In a Beqanna where she hadn’t sacrificed herself to three men and their lusts, perhaps she would have been Queen here. But now she knows that that is an unachievable goal. Noori is not a Queen – she is a Mother.
His voice rubs her the right way, as many male voices tend to. She glances to the intrigued curve of his lips, appreciates the way it stretches to his eyes. Grains of salt sift through his onyx fur, like snowflakes beginning to suffocate an ashen world. Halting slowly, the tree-born woman perks her ears and allows her lips to twirl into a careful, calculated smile. She may not know the social norms, but the norms of men are well known to her.
“Ramiel,” She murmurs breathfully, blinking her alabaster lashes coyly. The wind caresses her, billowing the scarlet fronds about her artistically crafted frame. Leaning forward timidly, she offers her Arabic head to the man, nostrils widening as though to inhale his scent all the better. As she does so, the emerald grasses stretch silently around his four legs, small blue flowers blooming through the blades. Their grasp is gentle, not meant to stay his movement; simply to embrace.
“I am Noori, of the Spring.” She straightens, eyes glimmering hopefully. This land on its own bears fruit; with members such as this young lad, it bears wonders. “I seek naught but company, and in good company I shall find loyalty.” Gazing off into the distance, a softly proud and snobbish aura grows around her. “The Deserts and the Valley stopped holding my interest some time ago… Perhaps you can offer me something more?” Her glowing gaze returns to his, occasionally surveying the rest of his onyx figure. Smiling, she waits patiently for the king’s reply.
In many ways, their world is constantly changing. Rulers rise and fall, kingdoms become powerful before slipping into obscurity, herds fill and then empty again. The seasons change, too. The leaves emerge again on the trees in spring, growing and sustaining the plant through summer. Then fall comes, stripping the leaves in time for a bare, cold winter. New faces promise themselves to new homes. They pledge and plead and often leave before making any real contribution.
There is change, always, but it follows a set system. The seasons change, but they are predictable. Kingdoms rise, but everyone knows it will not last. Strangers find new homes, but they do not stay forever. There is a complacency in following these rules. Ramiel knows, because he used to be rather fond of following all of them. He used to exist in the boundaries of his parents, of his kingdom. He used to believe in black and white, of the importance of practicality. He used to shudder at the thought of running off to explore when he had been told to stay.
But then Carnage had called him.
His time in space and the end of the world has made him a new man. He no longer thinks that there is an answer for everything. Mysteries still remain in this world (and the world beyond, he is sure) - and only by bending the rules will he discover them.
Noori, as he soon learns her name, is one such mystery. She is beautiful but it is because of her strangeness (not like Wrynn is because of her sweetness, because of her kind and thoughtful nature). Ramiel finds himself unable to look away from her, even as she draws nearer than a stranger ought to. The wind stirs the branches around her delicate face, looking like the halo of an earth angel. He feels a tugging at all four of his feet, but he pays it no mind for the time being.
She says she’s of the Spring, and he firmly believes her. Not that he knows what she means, exactly, but as captivated as he is, he stores the confusion away in his mind now. Later, he thinks, later I’ll ask her. She draws her face in so close that he can see every lash lining her luminous emerald eyes. He breathes in the smell of flowering dogwood and clean earth – the scent of the Dale, of home – and smiles. His youth makes him eager to linger by her side all day, this woman who already smells like she belongs, and to learn everything about her. He takes a step closer, feeling a snap and noticing the flowering grass that had, until that moment, been wrapped around his foot.
Noori breaks the moment when she pulls away. He resents the motion at first, until she opens her mouth. Her high regard or her own company is not becoming of a woman of Spring, he thinks mildly, shaking himself of the hold she’d had on him. He doesn’t mind pride. It is his greatest sin, after all. But pride without effort is unforgivable. Noori’s reveals more of herself than perhaps she means to in saying that she’s already left two kingdoms. Does fault lie with the Valley and Deserts? Or is she simply a bird overeager to leave the nest? Ramiel doesn’t know, but he’s more than willing to give a second chance to anybody. Or a third, in her case.
“The Dale is a family,” he says, noticing the way her eyes seemed to rove across his body. The action makes him a bit uncomfortable, but strangely, not in a bad way. He refuses to be so drawn to her glow again, though, and levels his gaze on her own. “If that appeals to you in any way, you are more than welcome here.” Little does he know that she calls herself Mother. If he had, he would have thought that she certainly belonged, dogwood mane and all. Instead, he watches her, wondering if she possesses the humility to integrate into their tight-knit community. “We are a small group now, but we are not without talent.”
Ramiel shifts then, fading into his ghost form with ever-increasing ease. He’s not one to show off usually, but something about this mare made it seem like she would require proof of their ‘talent.’ Something said that she was used to power and at this point, expected it. He grins at her when he sees a large rock near her hoof. Concentrating, the grey stallion lifts it into the air. He has it encircle her muzzle once before setting it back down gently, just avoiding the flowers at her feet.
Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear it will not die
Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vines
Once upon a time, she hadn’t believed in change. When the world stood dauntingly above her, little Noori thought of the world as stubborn. Scorch will never love me began her every morning until it became almost a prayer. Kaida will never forgive me, and no man will ever love me were soon added to the list, a list of absolute certainties. The list grew so long that over time, her spirit broke. The negative thoughts crushed her psyche, and she became the sun-freckled red head with too-wide brown eyes and a tendency to panic at every opportunity.
Many events transpired since those thin, unhealthy days. A few came to mind if she bid them; but primarily, Winter changed everything. Her time gallivanting through the Season’s alternate universe shone new light upon her terribly dismal life. At first, only her body changed (oh, how regular she used to be), and her mental health did not improve. As the seasons changed around her and she found friendship in Kora, however, even that changed.
And perhaps now, as she stands confidently with no trace of her prior self, she believes a little more in the power of change.
She captivates him, the glow of her eyes inviting him ever closer, though he moves not. He studies her intently, causing the mare to smile softly. She’s used to the attention – indeed, three suitors in one season is proof enough of this. Yet as his nostrils flare and commit her scent to memory, she allows that perhaps the flutter within her is not one of hunger.
He steps closer, and the flutter intensifies. Perhaps this is why she withdraws, though she does not pause to analyze her decision. And as Ramiel’s eyes clear of infatuation, Noori’s heart calms. Romance has been her life up to this point, and however tempted she is to reel this lovely catch in, she finds their simple conversions far more satisfying.
“My own family has distanced themselves from me,” She murmurs gently, lowering her proud gaze. “To find another one here would be a gift.” Raising her eyes, she’s startled by what she sees. “Oh—“ Stuttering at not only the sight of his thin appearance but the warmth in the man’s beautiful smile, an utterly genuine one of her own gathers and bursts upon her alabaster lips. She flinches when something floats slowly past her eyes, only to encircle her delicate muzzle and fall back to the earth. Tearing her gaze away from the stone, she stares into Ramiel’s eyes, no longer concerned with his physique.
“So you’re like me,” She murmurs. ”Who… Who found you?” She pauses, smiles, and tilts her head. “Winter found me.”
The moment breaks, and Ramiel is glad. Emotions like the one he’s just experienced are still new and fragile. He tip-toes around them, avoids them as best he can. His approval and understanding of the opposite sex has progressed, but only so far. Noori makes him wish it was further. She makes him want to curve around her, to tell her that she astounds him for all her alien beauty. She’s a stranger, his mind tells him, but his body refutes the fact. He’s a gentleman, though – or at least he was raised to be one – and when she doesn’t invite him further, the stallion immediately halts his study of her. That same, soft smile lights up her face, though. She leaves the door cracked for future invitation. What a dangerous game this could be, he thinks.
“That’s a shame,” he says, and means the increasing distance between the two of them as much as her growing separation from her family. He needs the space to think, though. His mind had been hazy and heavy when he’d been so near, his brain addled by the smell of dogwood and willow. She wants a family because hers’ wants nothing to do with her. Ramiel can’t understand why this would be, having grown up with two loving parents and a small but passionate support group besides them. He realizes it’s not always the case, how mothers don’t always love, how fathers aren’t always around - how fortunate he’s been.
Sympathy for the woman of Spring builds within him, but the emotion runs parallel to the questions also adding up. Was she born like this or did something change her? Was she wrought and shaped in the hands of something powerful like he himself was? He pushes his curiosity aside for the time being. Perhaps she needs reassurance now more than anything. “Family should be forever,” he says, shaking his head for her benefit as much as his own disbelief. “A gift?” The greying stallion smiles easily, “consider it given, then.”
Noori ducks her head, not noticing that he’s changed until she stands straight again. His smile has grown to an outright grin, some small hint of ego fueling its continuation upon his face. He’s happy when she smiles freely back. All traces of pride are gone from her features; this must be the real Noori, the one who exists when she’s alone, save for her thoughts. Spring is soft and warm; spring is life and new beginnings, surely its’ Mother is much the same. She seems to know, somehow, that he wasn’t always a part-time ghost. Winter found me, she says, and he understands exactly what she means, if not the context.
“Carnage.” Ramiel’s half-moon curved lips drop into an undisturbed line. Thinking of the dark god brings only a simmering anger that bubbles in the folds of his gut. So many victims, so much devastation and war and loss. He thinks of the black light now burning on the Other Side; he thinks of how close they had been to bringing her home. The young man doesn’t want to trouble Noori further with his own personal grudges, so he adds, “the bastard,” and smiles once again. The earthen mare seems content enough to share her own tale (and he’s ever so curious to hear it) so he turns the questioning on her. “Winter? Did he turn you into his mortal enemy Spring?” He laughs lightly, not knowing how close he was to the truth.
