"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
Saedís contemplated this as she walked. The sun has begun to set. A satiny blue drapes across the sky, stars scattered across the sleepy nightfall. Even so, Saedís does not fall into slumber. Her eyes remain wide and awake, her stride unhindered by fatigue. The darkness is not suffocating, but the shadows fall across Saedís’ shoulders like a well-worn cloak, softening her curves and accentuating the moonshine silver of her glossy coat. She wanders aimlessly, unaware of where she is, or, really, where she is going. This void in her knowledge does not much bother her, though. Saedís, dreamer girl, simply walks, her slender body shivering slightly at the hint of chill in the autumn wind. That wind wove its way around her, tugged at her heels, lured her deeper into Beqanna where the air was sweet, filled with the familiar scent of horses.
She did not resist. Save for the idle flick of a shining ear, she does not question the pull. Instead, she merely regards the foreign wonder that weaves so intricately into the dancing tendrils of her silken forelock with wide, doe-like eyes and whispers, into the dark, a tentative, curious, “Hello?”
As the greeting falls from her lips, they curve upward in a soft smile. She breaks free of the bordering forest, stepping into the starlight and the field and beholding the world before her. Lifting her head, she breathes in the scent of strangers. She breathes in Beqanna. She breathes in life.
01-06-2018, 12:08 AM (This post was last modified: 01-10-2018, 05:32 AM by Enniska.)
Enniska watches the world around her curiously with bright blue eyes, her ears flick back and forth, listening to anything and everything she can find. This new place is strange to Enniska, different from the places she has visited before. The energy in the air is foreign and indescribable to the dark mare, it was almost...magical. Enniska is yet to interact with anyone from here, so far she has only observed. She saw a few horses pass by in small groups and alone, but that was all. Now she is feeling more comfortable, and her eyes scan the empty field in front of her. Nothing. Enniska returns to grazing, not because she is hungry, but simply because she has nothing better to do. The night is getting colder, she notices, and a slight shiver runs down her spine. She has always been partial to winter, and summer did nothing but irritate her. The grass is dry and tastes like dust, but it does not matter, because Enniska abandons the task when a scent in the breeze catches her attention; a mare.
It takes no time at all to spot the mare, even in the trees; she is ghostly. Her coat is as pale as the moon peering down at them, and she seems to almost glow in its light. Enniska's dark body is perfectly still, and there at the treeline she melts seamlessly into her surroundings. Enniska watches the mare, taking in everything she can. The mare moves like water; soundlessly and pointlessly, but powerfully. She seems to have no purpose and all the purpose in the world all at once. She reaches the treeline, and Enniska sees her speaking to herself, or perhaps to the creatures hidden in the forest. The ghostly mare smiles, something Enniska is immediately intrigued by, for her smile seems to hold so much within it. It is in this moment that Enniska realises the mare did not speak to herself, but she had greeted anyone close enough to hear. Enniska hesitates for a second, and then she moves towards the mare.
She does not keep her presence a secret, and allows her charcoal hooves to hit the earth with a heavy and clear thud. Now that she is moving, her own appearance reflects the other mare's; her silvery coat glitters ever so slightly, and a long, pointed horn catches the moon's rays. But when she stops, she once again seems to be swallowed up by the darkness.
"Hello."
Enniska
you've got your finger on the trigger, but your trigger finger is mine
Wound has always had an adoration for the nighttime sky. Her favorite moments in life are those spent beneath the blanket of the stars, when the world has an otherworldly glow from the constellations. She will often pair it with one of her favorite past-times — swimming — by wading through the ocean late at night, when the waves reflect the astral illumination of the sky above.
Rather than going for a swim, the silver bay limps her way toward the field. It’s been her recent haunt in the winter months, the place where her feet guide her when she walks aimlessly. Wound has found a joy in Tephra she never thought she could achieve and her tender heart wants to share it with others. Her thoughts are comforting as she enters the field, thinking of the love she holds for her home and the love her child (swaddled among the tissue and blood of her womb) will soon experience as well.
The moon illuminates the snow eerily, but Wound finds comfort in the light. It’s relatively quiet in the field, though she had expected that. When the sun falls into the embrace of the horizon, she has noticed Beqanna’s predatory, dangerous creatures often come out to play. Although she isn’t entirely fond of their malicious behavior, Wound has spent the majority of her life in the cobwebbed corners of Beqanna; she knows how to deal with them well.
A wide-eyed stallion approaches her from her left as she moves into the inner workings of the field. He is dark as the shadows, but the whites of his eyes flash as he steps closer. Wound’s ears immediately lace back into the tangled mess of her silver-ombre locks, her desire to protect herself even stronger now that her barrel swells with the signs of pregnancy. She knows she’s an easy pick — waddling along but also limping with her malformed leg — but she won’t go down quite so quickly.
“You’d better move on before I rip your face off.” Wound’s voice is low and stern, a complete contrast from her normally sweet words. She can see the stallion think about continuing his motives for a moment so her head swings around to snap the air in front of his face. His dark body quickly retreats and Wound sighs in relief, turning her head to brush her nose against her swollen side. “Don’t worry, my sweet. We’re safe.”
Just as her gentle murmurings leave her mouth, there is the sound of one greeting followed by a second one. The silvery bay turns to spot two mares similar in several ways but also different. They both share a hue of gray (one the ivory of the snow against their legs, one the gloom of the shadows that fringe the treeline) and they both smell of foreign worlds. Wound limps closer, stopping a respectable distance away. She’s learned that newcomers are often frightened of their surroundings — as they should be — and strangers intruding on their privacy does little to comfort them.
Wound echos their greetings, though hers brings more words to follow. “Hello. My name is Wound.” Although Femur didn’t introduce herself until they had crossed the sandbank between the mainland and Tephra, Wound always finds it more soothing for the stranger if they at least know her name before following her anywhere. “I would stick together, if I were you two. The men of Beqanna often get rowdy at night.” She doesn’t want to worry them or cause them to doubt the safety of Beqanna (aside from the nightlife, their world is relatively protected), but Wound feels her words of warning are more important. She waits then, for their introductions if they desire to provide them.
The wild way her mane tosses about is the finest kind of freedom that she can think of. The way it whips about, knotting, twining, looping. It is in a frenzy of motion that no body could duplicate. Her heart leaps. Her smile broadens. Like this she stands, lost to her reverie - where she is the very breath of the grasses, the wind following behind her to crease the sea of green and gold. There is nothing better than the feeling that comes with dreaming. In her dream, she lets her laugh bellow out past thinly stretched, smiling lips. In her reverie, the world was hers, in this little corner of the Field. She was the goddess to whom every grass would fall, every tree would whisper to, every star and moon beam would seek. In this little place she did not need to worry, she would not find pain, she could not fail.
But of course, it is just a dream, and such state of bliss cannot last. Saedís blinks slowly as she forces herself back to the Field, to the present, to greet the cold night breeze and the tarnished grasses of wall and the trees that would wail in pain rather than whisper sweet nothingness into her ears.
The clouds pass over her moonlight and her laughter is choked to silence, her smile is ripped from her lips, her bright sparkle is dulled to mere embers of would-be's. The sting of loneliness often finds her like this. But oh, she will find a way to strike it down again. Her constant companion, it would return, but only when her guard was down again.
The breeze does as it often finds amusing, twirling about two beasts upon new acquaintance. Bringing each scent to the respective other. The scene is a prettily orchestrated thing. The grasses brushing at the bellies of each of them, both creatures eyes – Saedís´ spun of stars and dreams - and Enniskas that bright blue of young rivers - locked startlingly long in time passed. There is a fleeting second where Saedís can almost sense the same needs and longing in Enniskas eye that she knows must be there in her own. Of course – she remembers, her whispered hello must have drawn the other mare to her and again that striking smile that brings to mind the image of sun beams and star twinkle is back on her lips. But she has barely dipped the slender alabaster of her face to the stranger when Wound makes her entrance, and caught off guard – despite her respectful halt a few feet away from them, Saedís dances uneasily to her left, her eye embarrassed as it meets Wounds. Her appearance perhaps should have shocked her much more than it did, but her gaze falls blindly over her unfinished front leg, ignoring the limping gait. Instead – the greeting procures the shiest of smiles upon her lips as she answers, in her bell-chime voice.
”Hello Wound, a pleasure to meet you. I am Saedís, and this is – “ she looks to Enniska, suddenly remembering that the storm-grey mare had not yet offered up her name. ”Forgive me, I don´t think I caught your name” she continues, heat rising on her snow white cheeks. Saedís greatest fear would be to somehow offend the mare.
”Men?” she echoes innocently, as if somehow unaware that such vile creatures exists in the world. ”How do we avoid them? I fear I am not quite yet familiar with these lands yet.” she admits, her tender gaze flits between the two mares as if trying to decipher what is expected of her next.
Enniska likes this strange, pale mare. She is beautiful and the pure joy of simply being sparkles in her eyes. Enniska decides that she likes her because the ghostly mare seems to be caught up in her own mind, living in her own, fabricated world, which is probably quite wonderful. Enniska wonders what it’s like; how does it look? Is it dark? Or is it filled with life and light like its creator seems to be. The ghostly mare turns to her and greets her with a dazzling smile, one that leaves Enniska almost stunned....is this mare the moon in the form of a horse? Or is she perhaps some other goddess, wandering the lands of mortals like gods and goddess sometimes do? Saedís. A beautiful name. Another greeting comes from nearby, from a mare Enniska hasn’t noticed approaching them. The mare is small, with a kind, pretty face, but Enniska can’t help but notice her limp, and then her leg that seems to have just stopped growing at some point. It is odd to Enniska; she has never seen anything like it before. What is even more odd is the mare’s name; Wound. It is such an ordinary word, but when put into the context of a name, it suddenly becomes almost poetic to Enniska, a lovely sound that seems to match the lovely mare’s only fault; her strange leg. But the mare does not seem to be bothered by her leg, and so Enniska decides she will not let it bother her either. Enniska takes a moment to admire the colouring of the mare, for it is just as unique as the rest of her.
Saedís turns to Enniska, and asks for her name. Enniska does not hesitate, both the individuals in her company seem kind and radiant, and they have put her nerves about being in a new territory at ease. She smiles softly at the two of them. “My apologises, it is Enniska,” she says in her deep, calm voice. It is the kind of voice that when you listen to it, it feels like you’re falling asleep or into a trans, the kind of voice you hear whispering to you when you are afraid, and you think of a loved one telling you everything will be alright to calm yourself down. The small mare, Wound, speaks again, and this time she warns of the men in the lands. Enniska stiffens. She knows the experience all too well, and her heart skips a beat. She instantly feels deeply grateful towards the gorgeous little mare for the warning, and she can’t help but pick up on the protectiveness in the mare’s voice. For a brief moment Enniska wonders what it is that the mare seems to be protecting, if it is anything at all.
Saedís speaks again, asking Wound about the men, sounding almost like a child; words laced with innocence and bewilderment. Enniska turns her attention towards Wound now, for she is also curious and now slightly concerned about the dangers that might lurk in these lands. Despite Wound’s warning, Enniska finds herself feeling relieved and happy to be in this new place, and she is certainly pleased to meet such seemingly lovely individuals so soon. It sets her hopes and dreams of this new place into a positive rhythm, and the uneasiness that had wrapped itself around her heart earlier is banished with the moon mare’s dazzling smile and the little one’s radiating warmth.
"What do you call this place?" Enniska asks, turning her bright eyes to Wound, and then, almost as if realising how vague her question is, she smiles and speaks again. "This land I mean, what is it's name? I have never been in this part of the world before."
Enniska
you've got your finger on the trigger, but your trigger finger is mine
Daydreaming can be a poetic, beautiful thing. Wound’s childhood was spent in the fabrication of her waking dreams. She would flutter between reality (the protective stares of her brothers, the chill of the shadows, the silence of their isolated grazing pastures) and her own fantasies (a mother who would stroke her hair, a father who would nip at her heels in playfulness, friends to go on adventures with, butterflies dancing along between her ears and along her shins).
There is something wonderful about seeing the world through an innocent eye. Wound cannot say she is entirely corrupt — she has seen both the good and the bad in this world — but she is no longer the pure little wanderer she was only a year ago. Tephra has changed her, for the better to be sure, and she is rather pleased with what she has become as of late.
She appreciates the way their eyes dance over her leg before darting back to her face. Although she knows the way their eyes shift is quicker than it should have been (an effort to protect her pride which used to shatter it regardless), Wound has come to acknowledge that her disformations will always make others uncomfortable and she will simply have to live with it. Her smile is warm despite her struggles, especially at the sound of the ghostly mare’s name.
“Saedis is a gorgeous name.” Her attention is diverted back toward the other mare, who also gives her own name in turn. “Another dazzling title.” They both have such delicately-woven names, handpicked from a basin of words that sound both royal and romantic. A fleeting moment of jealousy twists through her gut — Defect had given all of her children stiff, undelightful names that only reminded some of blood and gore and machinery. Little did Wound know, one of her newfound friends thought her name poetic. She might have giggled if she knew.
Saedis is angelically innocent in her knowledge of men and a tendril of motherly concern worms through Wound’s stomach. She reminds herself that there are worlds in the Beyond that she will never know — worlds which might hold no men at all, or perhaps only kind-hearted, gentlemanly men (her thoughts flutter toward Warrick but she roughly shoves them away). “It’s a delicate art, protecting yourself from them. I mostly just show that I don’t want anything they have to offer and they’ll leave me alone.”
Wound thinks about offering Tephra as a sanctuary for a brief moment, but Enniska’s question diverts her thought process. “This world we live in is called Beqanna. It’s home to many different personalities, some of which have formed kingdoms where we live that we guard and protect. The kingdom I belong to is called Tephra.” She pauses, gesturing with her nose toward their surroundings. The Field looks tranquil at this time of night (the moon alights the snow banks with an ethereal glow and it’s quite aside from the occasional huff of a wanderer or two).
“We’re standing in the Field right now. It’s a neutral common-ground, but most people wander in here if they’re looking for a home.” Her gentle coffee eyes turn back toward the two mares, another warm smile tugging at her lips. “I’m sure this might be very overwhelming for you, so if you have any other questions I would be happy to answer them.”
(Sorry this took me so long to reply back to! I've been swamped with homework <33)
It was true that Saedís had not yet accepted Beqanna as her home: despite its moon-soft grass and whisper-strong trees, there was also an overlay of loneliness the peaceful land brought her, and the eternal emptiness that seemed to be her curse. But how long will you dwell in dreams, child? This place is for new beginnings, and the sooner you let go, the sooner you fall into arms that only wish to hold you. She wanted to believe it so badly, and with each passing day a little more of her regret faded with the evening stars, and she awoke more resplendent.
The meadows would never hold the ocean’s splendor, but neither did the sea hold the warmth that Dawn brought Beqanna. And standing in the field with her newfound friends, echoes of starsky and nightfrost, her eye delighted over the quiet sounds of the earth, the sing-song of birds, and the murmurs of others as they met and greeted each other, Saedís decides that she wants to make this place home, too. She listens with rapt attention to Wound´s words about the stallions, and if she was capable of it she might have envied the other mare the obvious way in which she handles such difficulties but the thought slips away like water on the sand. Instead she is breeze-gentle and pewter bright, and she returns the kindness shown to her.
”Thank you, Wound – for telling us all these things. “
Her voice is sincere and she smiles softly in her gratefulness. For a second she has it in her mind what it would be like to stay here alone. And she, Saedís, young and thin-limbed and delicate as her mother was, is ready to rid herself of that blanket of solitude. Perhaps the curse of trusting has turned profitable this time. She wants to curl up under the watchful eye of Wound and stay there until the world is less frightening; until she has regained her memories and her strength. She wants to indulge in the story that dances just below the warmth of those eyes - just out of her reach. She turns to Enniska then, making sure that she too has heeded the warning. There are similarities between them - in the gentle sound of their voice and the quiet diffidence of their gaze - and Saedís can feel a kinship with her.
But it is not until Wound speaks of her home, that Saedís rotund eyes begin to glimmer again; this time with curiosity. Tephra. The word is a honey-soft promise to her ears, and she shivers with excitement, she casts a quick glance in Enniskas direction – hoping that her other companion too, will find the idea enticing, for she has no intentions of parting with her so soon.
”Won´t you take us there, Wound? To show us your home.” A melody for the breeze, a dance of child´s laughter on the wind.
When Wound speaks about her home, she speaks of it with a fondness and love that further eases Enniska’s worries. Surely she can only love this place so if it has treated her well. Yes, Enniska decides she has wandered into a good place, where, apart from the few men Wound has warned them of, there can not be too many dangers. Relief settles into Enniska’s bones; these last few months have been brutal and hard, and very lonely. This place, Beqanna, is a good place to rest, maybe she will even stay here for a while. Beqanna is beautiful, and the faint feeling of something big and magical in the air that first unsettled Enniska, now makes her feel at ease, and even excited.
The sun starts creeping up from behind the horizon as dawn arrives, and the world slowly awakens around the three mares. Has Enniska been up all night? She realises that indeed, she has. Birds begin chattering, and soft sounds of greetings amongst the other creatures make their way to Enniska’s ears. Dawn is a beautiful time, perhaps the best part about the day. Strangely, Enniska is not tired; making friends has made her feel ready for the day, and watching the world come to life around her has made her feel even more so. Around them, the first signs of spring are now visible in the brighter light of day and the world is starting to look as alive as Enniska feels in this moment.
Home. The word falling from Wound’s lips makes Enniska’s heart skip a beat. Home? The word sounds as foreign and far away to Enniska as her childhood home is to her. For a split second she wonders how far she has come, how far has she travelled. How many homes has she passed through? Enniska wonders if she would enjoy finding a home again, what would it be like, settling down again? The idea is certainly something interesting, and it might be a great adventure in itself. Saedís looks over at Enniska, and for a moment Enniska sees a glimmer of excitement in her eyes that sends a burst of joy through her heart. Something about Saedís is so exciting to Enniska, and it makes her want to almost sing with joy. She feels in Saedís what she felt all those years ago when she used to journey with her old friends, instead of by herself. Enniska smiles, and the warmth that radiates from Wound’s eyes warms her from the inside out. She glances at Saedís again as she makes up her mind.
“I would love to come too.”
Enniska
you've got your finger on the trigger, but your trigger finger is mine
