"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
“Thank you,” she offers as her molten amber eyes turn to look at the rabicano stallion beside her. He hadn't known anything about her when he'd offered to help that day in the Field - and now here he is, in Loess, just as he said he would be. Oceane is curious of his past, of course, but he has proven himself selfless and reliable in the short time she has known him. “I will need all of the help I can get right now, Finian.”
She pauses, and then takes a chance by confiding in him something she had yet to share with even Soran - “Especially now. Tarian, the man I was going to name Loess' Champion, has been stolen away from us and I can only hazard a guess that it was Pangea.” She sighs, more exasperated than anything else. Barbs aimed in the foothills' direction by the demons of the wasteland are nothing new. “Though my only proof is our unpleasant history.”
She chews at the inside of her cheek as they gaze out over the hot springs and the steam that rises up from them. All around them, winter has claimed the land and hidden the remaining destruction of last year's inferno. But never the springs; they are unchanging, and their stability is what she needs now.
“Tell me about yourself, Finian,” she requests quietly as she flicks an ear in his direction, hoping to gently set aside the troubles she harbors, if only for a short while.
His foam-green eyes can’t help but drink in all the reds and browns and oranges of the canyon-land as he passes through it. All the colors are the exact opposite of those he grew up with in the cold-blue and green of his oceanic home. The climate is warm – almost too much so – and he keeps his leathery wings held slightly off of his pale sides to stay cooler. He is so distracted by the towering, jutting peaks that he runs into his guide at one point, and bounces off of her as quickly as he can with a “sorry, lass!”
When they finally stop, Finian glances at Oceane with wonder in his eyes and gently shakes a head that feels heavy with all he’s seen. He’s about to launch into an inappropriate joke about the shape of one of the rising hoodoos when he sees the expression on his companion’s face. He sobers instantly, though he’s always dismayed when a good joke is wasted.
“I’m sorry,” he says, wondering how many times he’ll have to say it before her luck turns around. He didn’t decide to stay in Beqanna to endure such hardships or to bear the load for anyone else, but he finds himself willing to do it for now. If he has his way, though, laughter will soon echo on these rocky walls. “The politics here r’so different. I’ll have ‘ta catch up fast, won’t I?” It is frustrating not to fully comprehend what is going on, what he can do to help. He’s no fighter, but he reckons he could charm Oceane’s enemies to death, if needed. “You’ll tell me what I need t’do?”
His gaze slides from hers to the steam rising from the pool of water nearby. A part of him wants to take off for the water immediately, to pull the opalescent woman with him and splash in the water until their worries are forgotten, even if for a time. It’s what he would have done back home. Water anew, his mother always told him, a phrase that encompassed everything. Water was always there, always changing, always purifying. Swimming in different waters is still swimming in water, he thinks.
“Life is simpler where I’m from, by and under the ocean,” he says evenly, as if it’s not a good thing or a bad thing, just different. “I had a wonderful life, a beautiful family. Aye, but these feet like the road and my eyes like new faces too well.” He churns his cloven hooves in the red clay for emphasis and waggles his brows at her. “Plus me brothers and sisters have already heard enough of me jokes to last a lifetime.” His grin slides away as quickly as it rose on his face. He’s almost afraid to ask her, but he does. “What about you, Oceane? Have you always lived in this dust bowl?”
“I appreciate your apology but this is no fault of yours,” Oceane offers to the rabicano man with a small upwards twitch of her lavender lips. Finian's demeanor softens her slightly. It loosens the tight coil between her shoulders and unbridles the long, low exhale she'd been holding in her chest. At the man's political obseration, she gives him a small nod and an apologetic side-eye. “There's much to learn and, for that, I likely should be the one apologizing to you.” But with a nod of affirmation to his question, both of their gazes turn to the hot springs before them.
He opens up about his past - about the good life he had lived - and Oceane listens politely and with genuine interest. Not often has she heard the tale of the happy traveler; more often than not, swiftly moving hooves were not accompanied by a joyful heart. She thinks of her own story just moments before Finian asks about it and takes a moment to bite at the inside of her cheek as she considers sharing.
“No,” she finally tells him, though her gilded eyes remain on the crystalline basin as she speaks, “Beqanna saved me nearly a decade ago now.” She chuckles under her breath as her gaze turns to the leather-winged stallion beside her, “And despite the current events you've walked into, I'm still happier here than I ever was there.”
She ends there but this is, perhaps, the most she has ever shared with anyone aside from Soran on the subject. It's less of an open wound now and more of a negative reminder, but digging it all up won't do much for her either way. She hums quietly beneath her breath now, contemplating for a moment, before she speaks again.
“Well, here's my offer to you: let your feet find new roads and your eyes new faces while you work to recruit for Loess. I'd love to see this place bustling again, and I'm sure you could charm a few of them into staying.”
