what a day to begin again, Weir

[Ramiel]

Fall settles as a damp chill over the mountain land. The leaves change color – the land a palette of sunset oranges and reds – before dropping to the ground below. The animals start to make themselves scarce: the deer bound away into the forests, the squirrels hide away with their stashes, the birds leave the area altogether. It’s quiet and still, an apt reflection of the kingdom itself. Ramiel sighs heavily into the early afternoon air. He wishes it was as easy to change the motivation of a place as it was the season. With his sister now gone for the Amazons, the Dale seems disproportionally darker than it should, as if one young body carried the light of several horses. He misses her already, but realizes he must turn to the whole group rather than an individual. Their needs are greater than his by far.

The few horses that still wander the rocky hills are completely dependable, at least. There’s his mother and father, though they are a given and a staple. There is Elysteria, his aunt for all intents and purposes. And there is Weir, a new comer in every way except his work ethic. Already, he’s proven to be a capable and valuable asset to the kingdom. It won’t be long before he is due for promotions wherever his heart desires – the only question is, where does he so desire?

It’s been a few months since he’s seen the quirky roan stallion, and Ramiel seeks to amend that fact. He sets off quickly and quietly, phasing between various states of solidity as he goes. It’s become a recent practice of his to push his gift to the limit. Today, he decides to test how quickly he can go between the different states. He is solid at first, a warm, breathing body. But in the next second he becomes opaque, a blurry, milky version of the coal grey stallion he usually is. Within a few more breaths time, Ramiel fades into nothingness – invisible, save for his feet. It is another trick he’s been attempting, this fading only parts of his body, and he grins when it more or less works out as he intended. It’s not all for fun and games, though. He realizes there might come a time when his shifting could be a necessity on the battlefield. One never knows in their ever-changing land. It is best to be prepared for anything.

He’s still practicing when he sees Weir on the next rise. He fades into view as he walks, and by the time he reaches the other stallion, he is completely back to normal. He wonders if the man has noticed the change, however. “Weir. Good afternoon, sir.” Ramiel still sees the odd man as an elder, and though he’s grown since their first jaunt down the mountainside, he has enough respect to address him as such. “How are you liking the Dale so far?” He smiles as he asks it, having a sneaking suspicion on at least part of Weir’s answer. It will take time for them to grow, but thanks to Weir’s efforts in the Field (he has noticed his many departures and returns) hopefully that time will be lessened. He has more to say (and once business is concluded, he hopes they will talk more freely) but waits for the roan to say his piece first.

r a m i e l

what a day to begin again

ooc: figured I'd start a more current one! =)

[Weir]

As they do, the seasons change, a never ending circle. Summer crisps into Fall, the treeline follows suit. Leaves burn in vivid reds and oranges, a contrast to the chill that skirts each draft of air. The once lush grasses and abundant wildflowers, are replaced by yellowing blades that require good chewing. As if his new home needs anymore stillness, the animals retreat, a long awaited hibernation beckons them.

As somber as it may appear, Weir's disposition does little to reflect it. He persisted to make the back and forth trip to the fields, conversing with prospective herd mates. Talking long on the qualities of the Dale, among other things. The roan had yet to bring any of them back, the gathering grounds were a free for all. An overwhelming number of equine offering their own homes to the bedraggled new comers.

Yet he could not complain. What conversation he could not find along the meadows and valleys of his home, he surely discovered in the Field. This afternoon  he was 'taking it easy,' standing atop a rise overlooking the autumn colored trees. A thoughtful look stenciled on his face, quite neutral in appearance. He was stifling a yawn, eyes squinting shut in his attempts, when he caught a blurred peripheral.

He could have sworn a blink of an eye earlier, that he had seen only hooves, yet here his King was. He noted the lads changing pelt, his dark tone replaced by charcoal gray. The young King looked older and not just in his growth or his coloring. The burdens of ruling licking hard edges around his form,'kill the boy' the saying went.

"Ah, my young King. Good afternoon? Why yes, I suppose it is."he says warmly. "It is much to my liking,"he says gently, "I believe I could use more time in the day to enjoy it, and to visit the herdless lands. We'll find the right ones to fill our borders eventually." A good natured laugh falling from his maw."How does Kingship find you these days? You are growing."A keen amber eye finds him, almost inspecting the young man.

Eclectic Vagabond of the Dale

[Ramiel]

He notices Weir’s careful gaze and smiles lightly when he thinks he’s tricked him. He doesn’t know with certainty that’s he’s been completely successful. However, if he wants to master this gift, practicing on unsuspecting but familiar horses is the only way to go about it. Of course, he’d never use it maliciously on his Dalean family – they are simply the only ones who might tolerate it, and therefore him, to some degree.

The wind stirs up around the pair, a cool and refreshing reminder that winter will soon be upon them. And as much as he appreciates the roan’s hard work and dedication to roaming the herdless grounds, Ramiel doesn’t want him to run himself ragged once the weather turns. They have survived long enough as quiet as they are, surely they can wait until spring. He is thankful for the man’s efforts, though, and he is unafraid to tell him so. “I doubt the problem is time, or anything on your end, really. You’ve done a wonderful job for barely having settled in yourself.” His tail flicks across his hindquarters, disappearing as it hits his skin and reappearing as gravity pulls it back down. “They are just not drawn to this place like they are elsewhere. There has to be something we can offer to make the Dale more appealing to new comers.”

His gold eyes lift to find the mountains, drawn to them as he usually is. The beauty of the place should be enough for some. The sense of family should be a siren call for others. It’s nearly an impossible task to convincingly convey it all to strangers in the Field, the young stallion knows, but there has to be a way. He smiles at Weir’s conviction and looks back at him. “I will hold you to that.”

The red speckled man accesses him then, commenting on his growth and asking after his state of mind. How was he doing? Ramiel thinks it’s more of a question for them, the people of the Dale. After all, he firmly believes in their democracy: what they thought of him is far more important than what he thinks of himself. But for Weir’s sake, he tries. “I am as hopeful as ever, with or without this new crown. It’s heavy and strange still, but I think its weight will only make me stronger.” The grey shifts his stance, uncomfortable with the elaborate way he’s said it (not straight-forward and practical like he should have) but believing it at the same time. “Growing means inevitably leaving parts of your life behind you, I’ve come to realize.” His eyes are curious and soft as they land on the stallion. “What made you come here, if you don’t mind my asking?” What have you left behind, or whom, he asks without speaking.

r a m i e l

what a day to begin again

[Weir]

He would never deign to think such an absurdity, seeing just some hooves prancing about the graces. Parting the blades though unattached to a chassis, nonsense, baloney. A great many odd things he had seen in his life, but they were solid, absolute sightings. Taking on clear forms, precise outlines, substantial physicality. This one he had chalked up to little rest, to tight muscles that needed reprieve. He was only mortal, he suffered from the pains of the flesh the same as any, the wear perhaps bubbling to the surface now. His eyes were playing tricks on him, nothing out of the ordinary for one in his state and so he paid it no mind. Brushing it from his thoughts with the bat of an eyelash, a strain, sand in his eye. His amber oculi worn around the edges, would he be human wrinkles would be sure to line them.

For any doubts, his King can only sing him praises. Reassurance given, with a flick of a tail. He double took this sight, the plume had for a moment been there and the next it had not. Not one for much subtlety he began with questions, ”Ramiel, your tail. I do believe it is malfunctioning.” Quizzical eyes find the leaders rump, all sense of modesty forgotten.  ”Might be your tail is not so drawn to the Dale either,”he laughs heartily, his own jokes always fluffing his humor. ”It too has tired of my banter, just there, it had gone and returned.” He gestures with a tilt of his dial, sending stray locks to fall across his blazed forehead. 

They all couldn’t be turned away by his chatter, surely some sought companionship, simple conversation to pass their days. He wondered why more hadn’t been enticed by the simple living, the peaceful atmosphere of their kingdom. Times had changed and Weir was an old soul, everyone wanted things bigger, or better. He wasn’t used to such theatrics, frivolous displays he had no access to. ”I have little to offer them. Education? If they wanted it, most don’t. My talent is limited to the will of others in a sense. I cannot display great feats to prove some boundless power. I fear I am unsure as to what impresses the others. Though I wish a thousand times to not attract the sort that desire such of me, of any of us.” Though his words may be somber, his tone is anything but, contradicting the message that would be with his endless optimism.

His pallid companion shifts, unsure conceivably of the right response, of an appropriate one. A valid reasoning falls from the kings lips and Weir can do nothing but agree with his sentiments. The young one was wise, was careful with matters unlike others his age. Thoughtful on how he was perceived, how they are would be reflected in his words. The roan had to admire that, not all were lucky to have level headed rulers, some hidden motive woven in their words. Luck shone upon the Dale, here he had perceived no sense of self-servitude. ”You speak wisely Ramiel,” his tone is appreciative and genuine. ”I often find myself pulled in one direction or another, a deep gut feeling that I am quick to heed. If you can trust in nothing else, trust yourself, trust in your gut I say.” Though words were wind, wisdom could not be taught, could not be imparted to others. Feelings were much the same to Weir, he rested a piston propping it lightly on his hoof. ”I’ve never had children you know, nor a wife in all sense of the word. I can take solace in that at least, that I do not have them pinning for my return somewhere. A shameful existence to leave someone in don’t you think? My parents live, though what child does not eventually grow and vacate home? My sister, my brother, they are off with families of their own, and why shouldn’t they be? I can’t honestly say I feel like I have left much.” He smiles gently as he closes his thoughts, not at all perturbed by this loss.

Eclectic Vagabond of the Dale