"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
Trees. Nothing but damned trees. Ever since leaving Taiga he’d strayed slightly from the path and had found himself drifting south until he’d entered the border of Sylva. Since then, he’d happily gotten himself lost in the myriad of trees. His solitude had been therapeutic to him in a way. There were no meddlesome mares who felt that it was their job to change him. He wasn’t interested in changing.
Winter and travel clung to him. His fur had grown longer, making him look scruffier than he usually preferred. His grey coat was thick and the scruff on his face had grown long giving him a more matured look. Though, he hardly recognized his reflection anymore.
The smell of other horses had grown stronger the farther into Sylva he’d wandered. Normally he would have avoided the main hub, but for some reason he found himself wanting to investigate.
He’d never belonged to a kingdom before. The whole idea felt restraining and uncomfortable to him. Diplomatic missions and grand defensive battles held no appeal to him. More than likely he’d burn a kingdom to the ground before he’d find himself useful to it.
No, he preferred his life as a nomad. It was comfortable and familiar. He could never imagine himself answerable to anyone and he would make a poor excuse for a leader. Monotony had never been a strong suit of his. From a very young age he’d discovered that it was easier to be alone. Relationships were messy and unpredictable. Even a mother could grow bored enough to abandon her own child – a lesson he’d learned himself. Looking back at those years of struggle, he could thank the woman who held the majority of his contempt. She’d taught him early on how to rely upon himself – not the fickle interests of women.
Relationships were as changing as the seasons.
He took what he needed when it was required and was free to leave just as quickly as he had come.
Rounding a bend, he watched his footing as he came upon a suddenly rocky alcove. Boulders towered over him, casting their shade upon the already cold forest floor. Autumn colored leaves hung overhead, a phenomenon that had always fascinated him. Even in the depths of winter this part of the forest never lost it’s leaves. Vibrant and unburdened by snow, he enjoyed Sylva in the winter. It was far more bearable that any other kingdom surrounding them.
Halting at the peak of the bolder he gazed downward at the forest floor below.
03-14-2018, 12:16 PM (This post was last modified: 03-14-2018, 12:22 PM by Sabra.)
Kwartz was almost a yearling now, and so did not trail in her wake as much as he used to. She missed her little shadow, who was growing into a handsome youth. She wondered sometimes, if he would take after his father in temperment, in other ways... more and more, these thoughts preoccupied her on her daily patrols. It was on one of these forays that brought her to find this newcomer.
Another stranger to walk in her woods. Granted, this one moved with more confidence than most, as though he did not recognize the boundary he had come across. There was a defiant cock to his head, and the tones of grey that rippled over his muscled frame carried the same sense of careless attitude. Just the way he moved lit something in her. She had several able bodied stallions within her kingdom, men she trusted with the safety of their realm. Perhaps he was interested in becoming one of them? On the other hand, the last time she'd had a visceral reaction to a man, she ended up with a son and a problem...
She loved her woods, especially in winter. The contrast between glimmering white snow and fiery foliage. It was a magical combination. With silent, fluid motion, her steps carry her to stand behind the boulder he had chosen to scale. She paused a moment, admiring the view from below, before clearing her throat lightly. "You wouldn't happen to be looking for me, would you?" She called up, laughing lightly. It was a private joke, really. Everyone who came into the kingdom wanted to speak to her at some point.
The silent solitude of Sylva surrounded him. With every drop of a twig his muscles tensed in anticipation. He was weary. The last stranger he’d met on the road had left him unusually drained. She’d left her scars upon him, liking the raking of talons upon his usually thick hide. He was no stranger to the characters that filled Beqanna. For years he’d watched them from his place on the outside, glad to be detached from the mundane droll of their average lives. The confinement alone would have driven him to insanity.
Just as he was turning to leave a voice quipped from behind. Feminine and tantalizing, his eyes lit up beneath the scruff of his forelock. Slowly he turned, making a show of his fit physique. Pleasantly surprised, the stranger in his midst was undeniably beautiful. Vibrant she stood before him, her stark white coloring almost identical to that of the snow that blanketed the ground. Set apart only by her pale pink points and the fiery ombre of her hair. She was winged, like many other creatures throughout Beqanna, but she held a fascination for him that caught him by surprise.
Ever so carefully he climbed down from his perch and aligned himself before her. Unashamedly he allowed his eyes to wander across the expanse of her body. She held herself well, confidently almost as though she were royalty. Of course, Arithmetic had no actual way of knowing if she was, in fact, royalty. He paid very little attention the kingdoms and their ever-changing leaders. People were fickle and easily bored. There was no point in learning the name of one self-proclaimed king or queen when he knew they would either be replaced or overthrown quicker than they could be succeeded. He decided to keep that point to himself.
”It depends, love,” he replied flirtatiously. ”Who do I have the pleasure of stumbling into this fine wintery morning?”
Truthfully, he was surprised by how populated Beqanna seemed these days. He could hardly sneak through a kingdom these days without being noticed or approached. Not that he minded, of course. Some of those happenstances had played out much in his favor, but still. There were some days when he wished to sneak under the radar. But kingdom dwellers had grown overprotective and rarely let him escape without challenging his intentions. Admittedly, they had a reason to be slightly concerned by his presence. He had no qualms with stealing the innocence of one or two daughters. Not that, that was an intention of his on this particular pilgrimage.
His cavalier attitude carries on beyond his carriage. That much becomes apparent from the moment he opens his mouth. Ah. So he didn't know who she was. It would almost be refreshing, if he hadn't decided to bee so familiar. Sabra a year ago may have enjoyed the greeting. Sabra now was simply tired. It seemed most people wanted something of her. Most of the time it was kingdom business, and she didn't mind it. But often along side that were unspoken suggestions.
She snorted at his attempt are flirtation, rolling her eyes skyward in a rather unqueenly way. "I'm not your love, and am less likely to become so with that attitude. I am Sabra, and you are walking in my woods." She stated archly, shaking the satin curtain of her mane as she did. She had more important things to do than sit here and idly flirt. Nice as he was to look at, there was nothing there to suggest that he was going to do more than waste her time.
Instantaneously the mare’s eyes changed and he could almost see her assumptions as they formed within her cold gaze. Exhaustion wrote itself across her features and Arithmetic wondered what could have been the cause of such a change. His boredom yawned. The last stranger he’d met had been a fiery personality that had left him unusually drained. He’d hoped that this mare would be a welcome distraction. Instead, her sudden disinterest met him like a sudden stiffening and he was almost tempted to continue on his way. That is, until she spoke.
Her woods? Surely not. What were the odds of him stumbling upon the queen of Sylva. He could almost have laughed at the irony. The idea that one single horse could rule over such a large expanse of nature was highly entertaining. It was his personal belief that such a feat was impossible. Trees bowed to no one.
”I beg your pardon, m’lady,” He said with a spark of sarcasm. ”I did not know I was in the presence of royalty, for it I had I would have knelt before your greatness.”
This Sabra held herself above him, that much was made plain. Such an attitude was not unfamiliar to him. Similarly, he’d been met by other leaders. Such an attitude rarely inspired his loyalty. He smiled a secret smile and looked at her more closely. Oh, she was beautiful a face she was well aware of, no doubt. Untainted by the cruelty of the world, her purity shone through the pale of her coat. He would have gladly enjoyed the pleasure she could offer him, but it appeared to him that she’d already been spoiled by another. The sticky sweet smell of milk radiated from her and he flinched involuntarily. She was a mother.
Gazing around her, he searched for any sign of a colt. Gladly, there was none. He had never been the fatherly type. The antics of children tested his patience. At least she was free from her burden. For now.
Arithmetic
I Don't Make Love
@[Sabra] Don't worry. He's got plenty of sass too.
She stares at him a moment, watching his expression change at her caustic tone. An unbidden twitch began in the corners of her mouth, lifting them up into incredulous smile. The smile split into a raucous, soaring laugh that rang from the trees around them. She recovered herself from her fit of laughter, gasping slightly for air.
"Gods, that was shrewish of me. Yes, most folk in this wood consider me their regent. But they don't typically bow to me, so I can hardly expect you to. I'm afraid I've become rather unaccustomed to needing to introduce myself, particularly within this land. Allow me to start again? I am Sabra, and yes, some know me as the queen of Sylva. May I know who it is I address?" She asked cordially, eyes still sparkling with laughter.
So serious, all the time! Everything was so serious, and she missed laughter. She missed spending hours dancing with the wind, or racing though hot sands. Now she was a queen, and a mother. Sometimes it felt like that was the sum of her identity anymore. She wouldn't trade her life for anything. Truly, this was what she'd always wanted. But sometimes... well. Sometimes she needed to laugh, and the prickly encounter had been the catalyst needed to crack the dam of her carefully constructed façade. Oh dear, hee probably thought her mad for her outburst...
Her sudden outburst of laughter cut through the silence of the forest like a knife. Tensing he glanced back at her and watched as she slowly began to recover her wits. For a moment he wondered what thoughts could illicit such an unexpected reaction – perhaps she just found him that entertaining? Her walls were breaking down and her demeanor made a sudden harsh shift.
Curious, he traced his eyes along the length of her. Drinking in every marking, every scar – memorizing. This mare was beautiful in her purity. There was hardly a single flaw upon the pale ivory of her complexion. It was a marvel. She stood with a stiff formality, holding her in such a way as if to proclaim her status to those who beheld her. The woman’s confidence was almost alluring in a way.
As she spoke, his interest lifted once again. Child or no, she stood before him unburdened and, by the sound of her words, longing for a moment’s distraction. He was all too happy to oblige.
”My name is Arithmetic,” he revealed. ”But you may call me Ari.”
His was a name he’d given himself. His own mother hadn’t bothered herself with the task before her disinterest carried her away from him. As a two-year-old he’d begun referring to himself thusly, deciding that it was a huge improvement to ‘runt’ or ‘boy’.
The stallions in the bachelor herd had raised him to be tough and had taught him how to take care of himself. Soon, he’d learned that even their company had grown stale. Ever restless he could never find himself lingering in a single place for two long.
His mother’s parting curse, he supposed.
He wasn’t ashamed to claim that he maintained a few of his mother’s attributes. From what he remembered of her, she had been a beautiful mare. Wiley and flirtatious. Everywhere she went she turned heads of even the most devoted stallion.
”Tell me, queen Sabra,” he teased gently. ”What brings you to the outskirts of your land?”
Though she’d claimed to see herself no higher than the average horse, he could not resist the opportunity to poke fun at her position. He wondered what she would say if she knew the disdain he held for the kingdoms and their democracies. Most of them had fought hard to get to the place that they sat, but some were descendants from the earliest kings and queens. He wondered which was her story.
Arithmetic
I Don't Make Love
@[Sabra] I am so sorry that this took me so long to get out! Forgive me?
