"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
A gentle breeze, the smell of pine and chill in the air, winter's fingers were not yet upon this new land, but it was drawing near. The trees a brilliant spray of fire red, orange, yellow, purple and gold. And beyond the trees, a vast field of grass. Many sightings of horses coming and going, grazing and prancing. Meanwhile, in the shade of the fiery leaf trees stood a very large figure. Ever so silently watching over the field of ongoing commotion.
There stood Nerthus, a rather large but strangely observant mare Clydesdale. She kept her distance from those who'd 'unknowingly' got too close. The large mare would dip her head behind the tree she choose to hide her bulky frame...which didn't do very well in concealing her hind quarters and legs. Little did she realize she stuck out like a snow hare in the summer. Her attention was focused to the coming and going groups and lone individuals that would come and go; ears erect, neck straightened forward as she looked at each coming individual. Nerthus, even for being a sweet and kind lady, was tense and scared. She didn't quite know these lands yet, every new smell frightened her just a bit, even the leaves below her massive hooves would make her jump. A panicky mare was never a good sight to see,
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Notes: Welcome Nerthus, into the fields! (eventually I will have a Thread table set up, gotta figure out why they won't work)
From the field’s point of view Amorette is coming from the north. As she makes her way down to the field, the sun is in her face. Rather than cursing it, the ebony mare enjoys the ray warming her. Living in Tephra made her unused to the change of seasons, her coat still paper thin even though in other parts of Beqanna the autumn was well on its way.
The field is home to the homeless, a home to the those seeking a proper home. Among other places, it was thé place to look for horses that might fit in. Warrick had asked her to look for those who seemed to belong nowhere, but who deserved a place to call home nonetheless. Tephra could be that home, if they wanted her to be. Today Amorette was here to make the offer on her behalf.
She doesn’t bother to approach those who have already bonded together. Those horses wouldn’t need her, or Tephra, and thus she keeps an eye out for those that would. She finds it in the form of a huge – well, compared to Amore’s short form anyway – bay sabino mare. At first Amorette thinks it is Levi, but on a second look she notices the lack of flames, no Levi after all. The flutter of her heart goes as quickly it had come, but perhaps it is for the better.
When she approaches the mare Amorette makes sure to not surprise her. Her approach isn’t silent, and the soft breeze carries Amore’s sulfur laced scent towards the mare. Though huge and probably more than able to defend herself, the bay mare looks nervous, close to panicking even. ”Hello there” her voice friendly and light, but loud enough to cross the distance between them. Amorette is one who usually prefers to be close to others, this time she has decided against it, respecting that the tall bay mare might not be comfortable like that.
As her dark eyes quickly roam the bay’s form, her ears flick forward. ”Are you okay?” she asks, genuine worry in her eyes.
A soft pink tongue runs over his teeth, feeling their new points. The ache in his jaw had abated as his old, flat teeth had fallen out one by one, to be replaced with these new tearing things. Strange things had occurred since he nearly drowned. Sharpened teeth were the least of it. With a sort, barking sound, he paused. Dove-grey ears flicked back and forth, making sense of the returning echo. Some way, some how, an image resolved in his brain. The echoing sound turned into shapes, trees and stones and other horses. He could tell where they were, how far, what size and shape. It was almost like seeing, he thought. Close enough, anyway, to navigate the way from Ischia and into the common lands. That was where he knew himself to be now. The scent was familiar, although time had dulled his memory of it. A broad, flat place, where other stood about in ones and two. Most lost. Some to be found. Closer than others stood a pair, one considerably larger than the other. Fear scent clung to the air around them, emanating from the large female. He looked towards where he knew she stood, the soundwaves coming from the surrounding area muddling his newfound sense somewhat. A sweet, feminine voice carried to him, though the words were not aimed at the grey stallion.
He listened, standing a respectable distance away. A short call again, and the scene resolved before him once more. "Hello, how are you today?" He asked after a moment, conversationally toned. He was curious, more than anything. The two ladies before him were as unalike as could be, and he was intrigued by the possibility of further acquaintance. So much of his life had been spent on the outskirts. It was thrilling to be involved at last.
It isn’t often that Castile finds himself in the Field. Its bustling activity has often deterred him, even as a young boy, but his options are minimal since Ivar encouraged him to be a regent. It’s temporary, he consoles himself. Leadership has never been on his list of strengths; that had been mother and Isobell. They wanted that. Castile, on the other hand, has thoroughly enjoyed a nomadic lifestyle with minimal responsibility. Apparently, that was a common difference between him and two of his closest friends. They had both become Kings.
The uncertainty of the endless chatter is reflected as a mid-step pause, but fortunately, he isn’t as startled by it as the mare nearby. They are separated by only a few bodies. The cool autumn breeze is welcomed when so many are huddled close.
(So many.)
(Prey. They are all prey.)
Something churns in his gut, but he pushes forward unabashed even as two others join the mare. They, unlike him, settle easily into conversation. Are you okay? One asks. How are you? Says the other. In just a few heartbeats, the bases are covered and he is fighting to find something to say. His adrenaline is rising, but he shuts his eyes in extended blink to maintain his composure. ”The field is a daunting place,” he admits truthfully, his mismatched eyes finding the clydesdale’s, ”so I rarely come here.” That needs to change, he admits to himself quietly before shifting his weight and grins. ”I’m Castile.”
