"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
An old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind
It’s peaceful here; a different sense of the word from Loess.
A dreamy smile kisses the corners of Cyprin’s mouth as her eyes look across the meadow. Winter has made the flowers dormant and the grass brittle, but still the rolling hills emanate a sense of beauty that captures her. It has been months – perhaps even close to a year – since she first arrived to the Pampas, wrapped as a gift with a bow. She is for company, for conversation, when the days quietly tick away. Unfortunately, her rather shy nature has hindered the plans, but she is here nonetheless.
Above her, the clouds are gray in a quiet threat for snow. Curiously, Cyprin peers up and her eyes flash with a mirroring shade as she considers the possible weather change. A chill cartwheels down the length of her spine as though the frost king kissed her cheek. The dislike for the season is prominent in her family, but they at least have a fire churning in their guts to keep the cold at bay. She, on the other hand, relies solely on the thickening of her coat. A grimace deepens the lines of her face, but it’s a flickering moment as she turns away from the looming snowstorm to gaze admiringly across the open fields.
A sweetened voice slips from between her lips to no one in particular. It vibrates through her core and rattles the frigid air until all is silent again. To occupy herself, she grazes and idly waits for conversation to find her.
The Pampas could sure use some more life, the spotted male would wholeheartedly agree. Unfortunately he hasn’t succeeded in recruiting very well; stating that he is from a herdland, as a male, not always gets the response he wants. Even though he can say that Noah leads it, well, what does that make him? Or perhaps he’s just not exactly good enough with words.
And then there’s the matter of most his children living in Ischia instead of here - perhaps that might make a difference; friends for Noma, and perhaps more horses attracted more horses in general. A large herd to care for, to care about - a dream for a dreamland that had stayed a dream so far.
But life doesn’t always comply to one’s wishes - more often, it does not. In the moment, Aodhán felt like it shouldn’t be his responsibility to recruit, and yet he would want it to be - if he were better at it.
He knows Castile sent a family member to the Pampas, once. He wasn’t entirely certain she’d stay at first, but her scent did not fade. Now and then he was impolite enough to take the form of some animal and see what she was doing - like today.
Mostly she looked bored. When she called out, this confirmed his suspicion, and although he felt reluctant to approach her because he suspected all kinds of prejudice from her, well - perhaps there was a common goal to be found, after all.
The lizard scurries away through the grass quickly, into the nearest tree, his white shape clearly visible on the trunk. He enlarges his size and then tilts his head back towards the mare, blinking his emerald orbs at her before speaking up. ”You’re the Loessian girl, right?”
An old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind
Just as he was concerned about her prejudice, so was she.
Cyprin retracted within herself, relying solely on Noah for conversation while she adapted to a quieter and more relaxed life in the Pampas. Surely, they would think suspiciously of her, she told herself during the many lonely nights. Surely, they feel spied on, even if that is not her mission or reason to be here. In fact, Cyprin hasn’t seen her brothers since departing Loess for the Pampas. Without them, especially Bronsonn, her skin is incredibly cold. They are her fire, her warmth.
Shuffling toward a different patch of grass, she hardly notices the lizard bypassing her. It’s all an image of nature, of her world. What is another reptile in her midst when she has many others? Controlled by idle hunger, Cyprin is oblivious of her being watched until the seconds pass by and a tingle runs the length of her spine. A breath huffs from her lungs while lifting her head. A glance to her left finds nothing of interest, but to her right, she observes the enlargement of an alabaster lizard. In surprise, her eyes flash vibrantly. A quiet stillness blankets across her, a hesitation.
Then it talks to her, luring her closer as fascination softens her brow. Were she unaccustomed to the odd workings of Beqanna, or even reptiles, she would have fled; however, she is drawn to it and wonders if she is obtaining a similar ability to her siblings.
Only a few steps more, and then she halts with her ears erected forward, attentive. ”Yes, or, at least I was,” a Loessian, that is. Now, she is nothing, no one. ”I’m a, what is it, a Pampan? Pampian?” A low, airy laughter erupts from her chest but she catches herself and looks around, wondering how foolish she looks jesting with a lizard, even if it is larger than normal. There can only be one reason that it altered its size, and so Cyprin inches back though never allows her eyes to stray. ”Won’t you show your true self? Certainly you are not a natural lizard,” with a sweetened voice, she invites him to her, curious to see the puppeteer.
She’s not what he expects, but then perhaps, does he even know what he expected? Another dragon maybe - volatile, fire-spitting, easily changing emotions and faces. But she’s not. She’s more like Noah, though less shy. Softer, kind.
The overgrown lizard blinks at the mare as she corrects him as that she is a Pampian? He chuckles with her, finding that he doesn’t have a good word either for his fellow residents - not based in pampas, anyway. ”I think you’re Brilliant.” he grins, which probably looks silly on a lizard, then un-suctions his paws from the tree bark and shifts. The snow owl lands softly in the grass and looks up at the mare, shaking his head, emerald eyes never blinking. ”I have no true form any more, but I can show you my horse shape if you prefer it. Or any shape in general really.” That’s probably not what she meant or what she wanted to hear, but it is the truth. His base might as well be the semi-sentient rock he once was stuck as, for all he knows. His horse-form was perhaps similar to how he spent the first year of his life, but it no longer felt any more true than the white owl and lizard which he frequents in the Pampas. Let alone the golden serpent and dragon.
At her request then though, he does once more shift. The speed at which he now changes between his favourite shapes is fast enough for it to appear to be within a heartbeat - now a white knabstrup hybrid stands before her, adorned with the same golden spots that the snow owl’s belly had a moment ago. ”I’m Aodhán.”
