"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
Azariel didn't like this. Not one bit, thank you very much. It was smelly and cold and awful and he was alone. His mother. He remembered her, of course he did. He'd know her his whole life. Well, some mother she was, she'd gone and left him here all alone. Now he considered himself a right grown-up, he was almost a year old after all. A whole year. But right now he was scared. And angry and petulant. He took his petulance and formed it into a glare aimed at the wall, huffing. He supposed he had every right to act childish, he'd just been...what was the word for it? Abandoned! That's right he had been abandoned. Left all by his lonesome. How was he supposed to fend for himself? Was the woman crazy? What if there were..were...wolves or...mountain lions or something? He was surely doomed.
Now convinced this was the end of his short and rather uneventful life, he began to pace, looking around. He jumped at every sound, thinking maybe it was some predator and it was his time to face it. After awhile he considered the thoughts silly. But he couldn't help but be on edge, alert as he could be to his surroundings, expecting danger at any corner.
FAMILIAR BREATH OF MY OLD LIES CHANGED THE COLOR IN MY EYES
Wichita had always been small. Much too small for most things. She was however, never too small to raise her brood. Some might have things to say about the way she went about birthing children left and right. They could not say she did a poor job at it, because that just wasn't true.
No if there is one thing the pony sized mare knew how to do, it was to raise a child. It was very simple you see, feed it, love it, keep it out of trouble (for the most part). Some just couldn't be bothered to do the most mundane of tasks, perhaps they thought it beneath them? Whatever the reason, whatever the excuse, the tiny southern lady couldn't bare for a child to suffer.
She steps lightly into the adoption den, blinking her chocolate eyes into what she felt was a very sad place. The Egyptian markings glint in gold around her stare, searching for some tossed away little thing. It's like they say one woman's trash was another woman's treasure, or however it goes.
It's not long before she spots a young colt, huffing his dismay at the wall before him. Gently she approaches, a dainty little thing, calling softly to the boy. "Hey there sug.." She breathes, her voice sweet as syrup. A thick southern drawl drips from her muzzle, and she tosses the flaxen hair from her eyes. "Sweet thang look at ya, don't worry dear.." She coo's, coming to stand before him. "Right nice to meet ya, I'm Wichita, what's yer name hon?" She smiles warmly, though her skin ripples at a gust of cool wind.
Azariel couldnt help but think he would be here a very long time. He was cold enough as it was, and he assumed nightfall would be dreadful. Even more so than right now. He was lost in his thoughts and glaring and childishness that he hadn't even noticed the sounds of another approaching , not noticing until the other was upon him.
Azariel couldn't help the small jump, something that he would deny till the day he died if it was up to him. He studied the small mare as she spoke. She seemed so kind, and her accent seemed to calm him. Wichita she said her name was. Is was a nice name. A nice name for a nice mare. "I'm Azariel. At least, that's what Mother called me" he said. His name could have been something different maybe. But he liked what he was called. His tone was sad, though there was inflections of hurt and a bit of anger.
"Its very nice to meet you, Ma'am" Azariel said. He assumed it was, it seemed to be something people said to be respectful. And he was nothing if not respectful. It was another reason he could not understand his Mother abandoning him. He was well behaved compared to other colts he had seen. He couldn't wrap his young mind around any reason that could be given to him, and it would just be another mystery to him.
FAMILIAR BREATH OF MY OLD LIES CHANGED THE COLOR IN MY EYES
The poor darling, she hadn't meant to cause him a scare, perhaps she should have made more noise. She was terribly small though, and she hadn't been thinking how lightly her feet fell. It's something she should really take into consideration, but seeing as she often was shrinking away from frightful men- well, she might not get around to that.
She waits quietly as he composes himself, and she doesn't dare to laugh. The child had been through enough humility she decides, and instead she lets him look her over. It wouldn't take long for anyone to canvas her image, a pony-like size she was. Her coat a silvered black dapple, and only a few scattered scars to trace. Her hair fell in flaxen sheets down her neck, framing her face, and drawing attention to her eyes. They are the warmest cup of hot chocolate, lined with gold Egyptian cat eye markings- they are probably the most remarkable thing about her. Wichita's nose ends in a snow colored snip, adding a sweetness to her peachy muzzle.
Shifting her weight, she stares back before finally receiving his name. Azariel. He is a big child, would likely grow bigger, stronger. The strong name suited him she supposed, though it was not one she would have picked herself. Nevermind that though, a name was a name, any might do.
"That is a fine name," she assures him, because his name is likely the only thing he's been left with. "It's cold here," she reflects as the autumn wind tousles her coat, it was only now beginning to shag out for winter. "I can take ya somewhere warmer if ya like. You don't have ta stay here all alone." Wichita isn't sure if he knows this, but it's true he doesn't have to remain here. The little mare would be happy to bring him back home with her, there was always room at the Gates. "I have a home for ya if ya like. Let me take you to Heaven's Gates." If Wichita knew more of the world in a biblical sense, she would laugh at the irony of it all.
Azariel couldn't help but beam. Wichita was offering him a home. Sure, he thought he already had one, but going back didn't seem to be an option, he obviously wasn't wanted there. The thought of course crossed his mind that his mother could be coming back for him, but he wasn't sure if he would go with her if she did.
It took him a moment of deliberation before he decided "I'd like that" the colt said with a small nod he couldn't bear the thought of having to stay in this dreadful place for any longer than he had to. And there was something about the small mare that compelled him to trust her. It could have been her eyes, or her kind demeanor. Or it could have just been his fear of this place, and his willingness to trust a friendly face. "I wouldn't be a bother would I?" he asked, his eyes shining. He'd hate to be a burden to the mare, and whatever others she lived with. He was sure he would just end up back here. But maybe it would be different. He would be on his best behavior, then maybe they would want to keep him.
11-21-2015, 11:52 AM (This post was last modified: 11-21-2015, 11:57 AM by Wichita.)
FAMILIAR BREATH OF MY OLD LIES CHANGED THE COLOR IN MY EYES
She straightens, ever a lady. It would not look well on her to be slouching, "Up with you then sugar." A Motherly bit of instruction, they best be off after all, because she wouldn't want to be out and about after dark. Wichita was no fighter, she never had been, once maybe she had almost been convinced she could be. That silly idea was soon forgotten after her chance encounter with Khaos, and still she would shudder at the thought. Best not think about it, she often told herself.
Not only could darkness bring danger, it also brought the cold. Without the sun to warm them, they would shiver until they were stiff, or worse.
"Ya shouldn't say things like that." She assured him at his worries. "You'll not be a bit of a bother at all. I reckon we will manage just fine, and you'll have plenty of brothers and sisters there." That much, that much was certain. Wichita's fledglings roamed the Gates, little twinkles of her eye spread across the clover meadows. All except one, and she shoved that to the back of her mind as well. Her tears had not kept Bly from leaving, and they would not bring her back either.
Azariel nodded, moving so he could follow behind her. The idea of having siblings sounded fun. Surely less boring than having to entertain himself. He silently wondered if they would be his age, or maybe younger. His mind was racing between possibilities.
His mood had brightened even more when the mare had assured him he wouldn't be a bother, and he was happy for that. He was wanted, and with that, he thought, came cared for. He was soon to have a home and maybe a family. His day went from the worst, most dreadfully awful day of his young life, to something much more bright.
[ooc: Alrighty. Sorry for the shortness here. Ill make a post in the Gates in a bit ]
