"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
we dance with the devils your halo's the color of sinner's portraits
I’d wished myself into a world with no name, and while it had been a nice world, it was not home.
Home is Beqanna.
And so I wished myself back. I lost something along the way (I later learned it was time), and while the Field I walk into looks familiar, I am so much farther ahead than I was when I had left. Winter is slowly releasing her grasp, and the sunshine on my back is almost warm. The light glints off the gold rings along my ears and the bands around my ankles, the only visible markings I’ve chosen to wear upon my homecoming. My coat is the same soft grey that I was born wearing, complete with the primitive markings I inherited from my mother and the single patch of tobiano white across my withers that Father had given me.
It is time I find somewhere to lay my head.
The Desert doesn’t call to me the way it did to my siblings, and while I have only fond memories of the golden dunes I know that my destiny does not lie beneath that wide blue sky. Mother had told me once, far from Father’s hearing, that I reminded her of her mother. I hadn’t known then why she had spoken it so quietly, but I know now that when an Evil Princess throws away her inheritance for love of a Light Prince, reminiscing about home is something that is simply not done.
Perhaps I will go to the Chamber, I think; perhaps I should see what my mother had turned her back on.
Or perhaps I’ll go somewhere else entirely.
d j i n n i priam x aseret current form: smoky grullo tobiano arabian-hybrid mare
09-29-2015, 08:20 PM (This post was last modified: 09-29-2015, 09:12 PM by Skullu.)
Yes, it was cold here, it was the kind of cold that sinks into your bones and makes your body vibrate with shakes and shivers. The tall male snorted and expelled the vapors from his lungs as he made his way a crossed the snow covered field. He was just meandering but he was also looking for a mare to start his herd with. He already has his eye on a unclaimed place, it looked wondrous, a great place to start a family. He continues at a decent pace lifting his legs up high against the deep snow arching his neck where his chin bumped his chest just to try to keep somewhat warm. Then he noticed her a grey ghost against the white snow. He watched her walk in the sun for a while before beginning his advance towards her lifting his legs up high to get through a especially tall drift. Once he got close to he mare he could see the white mark on her side that was in stark contrast to the back ground of mousy grey. "Hello! My name is Skullu or if you want you can call me Skull" he said a soft smile coming to his lips as his green eyes locked on to hers
Skullu
How am I going to fix you? If you love being broken?
It has been quite a while since she had visited the field. Too long. But then, she has had good reason for remaining a recluse. But she cannot remain so forever. Even were she not such a naturally gregarious creature, she has responsibilities to see to. She had shirked them long enough. So, though walking is still painful, she makes the journey.
The trek takes more time than it might have had she simply flown. She had tried, but the fear had clutched at her breast and she had remained grounded. She would have to learn to get over that soon. But today she decides to walk. And because of her sore shoulder, it takes a little longer than she had anticipated.
Nevertheless, she makes it, only a little worse for wear. Her shoulder aches something fierce as she arrives. Perhaps she should have waited after all. But she is nothing if not determined. And today she has it in spades. The benefit of walking is having the time alone, to think, to consider. Granted, she has spent an inordinate amount of time lately by herself, leaving her plenty of time to think. But the walk from the Dale had only served to boost her resolve, her confidence.
As reaches the borders of the field, covered in later winter snow and ice, she pauses to consider who she should approach. Her russet eyes land upon a dusky painted mare with golden trinkets in her ears and around her fetlocks, causing her curiosity to peak.
Stepping forward, she approaches, favoring her right foreleg as she does so. Her bright red coat has grown thick for the winter, but the scars etched into her torso from rump to shoulder are still visible despite her rather shaggy hair. Those scars, and the limp, tell a gruesome story, the story of why she had gone into seclusion. But now she is ready to confront the world, and what better place to do that than here?
A stallion has already found the mare, and as she nears, she hears the last bit of his greeting. She smiles warmly at the pair, offering a friendly greeting of her own.
“I do hope I am not interrupting! I am Elysteria, of the Dale. Skull, is it? A pleasure to meet you.”
Her soft, cinnamon gaze shifts to the painted mare as she turns the conversation to her, smile resting easily upon her lips.
What was it about Beqanna’s lands? Each horse seemed to have an echo of a call to a kingdom. There were kings and queens that died, and came back to life, at the might of the earth and kingdom around them. There were souls who gave their life fighting for their kingdom, and others who were born and aged and died there. Was there some unbreakable tie that Eight had missed? Some mighty chains that locked onto your soul and dragged you to a home – forever to be in love there?
True, Eight enjoyed the Valley. It was ‘home’ – if you could say that (although, he never truly settled roots anywhere). But ‘home’ had also been the Chamber, where he once ruled. And the Dale, too. It was as if each time he disappeared and reappeared, he settled himself in a different place. So what was coming home? Where is that familiar door, the key under the mat, the bed you’ve slept in since a child?
Eight was not much for the field, either. He rarely went. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he even cared to go. He wasn’t much for diplomacy or genial greetings and chit chat. And to be honest, who would look at him and think ‘why yes, this is someone I’d want to stand beside in a place to call my own’. But it had been quiet in the Valley as of late – well, save for the great fiery wall that had enveloped the lands. Quiet, though, in the sense that Eight hadn’t spoken a word in about a month now – to neither soul nor creature. I guess he was, in general, the stoic type. But perhaps even for him, a month was too long without words.
And so he goes off to the meadow– with no goal in mind really. He had never exactly ‘recruited’ someone to come home before. They always just seemed to show up – and that was really how he preferred it. Why convince someone to come home, when they’ll find their way on their own?
He arrives quietly, slipping out of the thin air and invisibility he held around him – his skin appearing in streaks, forming into the solid shape of his body. And he appears beside the trio of horses – an interesting collection indeed. “Her name is Dijinni.” He says quietly – answering the tail of Elysteria’s question. He gives a single nod to Skull and the two females, “Eight, of the Valley.”
Well, I guess there’s a first for everything.
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
we dance with the devils your halo's the color of sinner's portraits
It is hard to miss the high-stepping action of the roan stallion as he presses forward through the snow, and I follow his progress with a faint glimmer of amusement in my dark eyes. I’m not laughing at his predicament, but his struggle through the snow is something that I’ve never experienced myself. If the roan’s example is anything to go by, it’s not something that I ever want to do either. I had grown up in a place where snow has never even threatened to fall, in a place where winter was simply summer, but with more frequent rainfall. I do not dislike the snow – in fact, the rolling white hills remind me gently of the smooth dunes of my childhood – but I do not want it to stay forever.
I smile when he approaches and nod my small head, meeting his green eyes with my own. I have my mother’s eyes, warm and sweet and brown, flecked here and there with gold. In my left eye there is a single sliver of blue, bright and clear against the rest of the dark iris. I notice the mare coming up behind him even as he begins to speak, and as my eyes trash the harsh lines of her scars I barely register what it is the roan stallion is saying. Fortunately the bay mare repeats the name that the stallion had given after offering her own. Finding words is still difficult given that I’ve yet to tear my eyes away from her gruesome scars, but I do manage a smile as I finally meet her gaze.
Shaking my head, I toss my dark forelock away from eyes. The motion does nothing to lessen the dark streaks in my vision, but as they solidify into the figure of a horse I realize that it was not my own hair blurring my vision after all. I do not recognize the stallion, but he pulls my name from the air as swiftly as he’d pulled himself, and it is not hard to guess what he is. I’m not certain how I feel about having my name – my introduction – taken from me, and to be sure that nothing else comes without consent I wish my mind protected from others. I’ve never shielded myself from magicians before and can’t be certain it will work, but I trust that it will be enough for our conversation in the Field.
“He’s right,” I say, gesturing briefly toward Eight as acknowledgement of what he’s said. “My name is Djinni, though I prefer Jin.” I rarely share my full name at all, but the choice of that has been taken from me by the bay stallion from the Valley and there is no use wishing for things already cemented in the past. The silence that falls after that is uncomfortable. I itch to fill it, but I suppose that this is the task of those gathered around me. I am here because I have nowhere else to be, but they must have come to the Field from somewhere else, with conversation with me a goal of their day.
d j i n n i priam x aseret current form: smoky grullo tobiano arabian-hybrid mare
Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like a volcano, then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision.
The painted mare notices her scars of course. How could she not? It gives her pause, that intense perusal. Though she has never been vain, she cannot help but shift uncomfortably as the other mare stares at the scars decorating the entirety of her right side. Perhaps one day she would grow accustomed to horses staring at her, but these are so new, so recent, she still has not even gotten used to the sight of them herself. But she cannot blame the woman for staring. She is not entirely certain she wouldn’t do the same were their positions reversed.
The mare is distracted then by something else behind her. Elysteria turns her head, russet gaze falling upon the stallion materializing into the small group. She sighs softly as the dark bay stallion steps forward, recognizing him instantly. They have been acquainted for quite some time, and, unfortunately, she still owes him a favor. She dearly hopes that he has not chosen now, of all days, to come collect.
Fortunately he pays little mind to her, beyond answering the question she had asked of the gray and white mare. Interesting. A small smile quirks her lips as she dips her head slightly in acknowledgement.
“Eight. Good to see you again.”
The mare, Djinni, responds to Eights statement with a confirmation. The smile quirking her lips blooms into a fully-fledged grin of amusement as she notes the faint hint of irritation behind the woman’s words. Good to know that he hasn’t changed. But then, she hadn’t expected him to.
Turning her twinkling gaze back to Djinni, she continues the conversation easily. Having gotten the pleasantries out of the way, she is now free to indulge in her curiosity. And, with any luck, interest Djinni in joining the Dale.
“If you don’t mid my asking Jin, what brings you here on such a chilly day?”
You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is.
