"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
Fireflies float and glow in the eerie silence of the Taigan night. They bounce between the trees and light up the early summer night like lanterns. The pale phantom stands on the edge of a babbling brook, the water passing gently over and through smooth stones that clack quietly beneath his hooves as the stallion stomps upon them gently to remove packed on mud. The moon passes over the forest and leaves swathes of milky mud exposed to his glinting eyes. The brook itself is the only other light in the woods next to the moon herself. The liquid seems to morph and glow a soft blue from within. It reflects in muted hues against the creme of Tymber's coat and changes the dusty brown of his forelegs and face to a soft gray. Curved ears dip forward to listen to the quiet tune of the night time.
The man is new to Beqanna, but knows enough to not be frightened by his solitude in the redwood forest. It is a sanctuary to ghosts and travelers such as he. A graveyard for stories and monarchs like his father.
Silver streaks tinged in brown fall into crystal hues as the stallion turns his bodice away from the water to face the forest once more. He cant quite remember how he got here, but he knows that he doesnt wish to leave. Maybe others would come and join him within these lonely trees, or perhaps the passing prince would find peace all alone.
Your beauty is beyond compare - oh, if I could hear but one song from you
I shall hail thee Queen of Birds...
Chance encounters are all that it takes, sometimes; suddenly he knows more horses, presumably future friends if he encounters them once or twice more in the near future. He's so glad to not be a prisoner any longer; sitting still in one place never was his thing.
That may be the only trouble he has with Ischia, after all. The island is so secluded, him having to swim the distance to reach the mainland or just be patient enough to wait for lower tide (obviously he almost always chooses the swimming option). Today he finds himself striding through a former kingdom, on his way to the next chance encounter, or perhaps the next family or friendly visit. He's not sure yet what he will do next.
Another chance encounter then - a sooty buckskin in the distance. He does not smell of any kingdom; in fact he doesn't smell like many other common lands at all either. He seems to be staring at the treeline that the gold-streaked bay roan appears from. Perhaps he's already seen him, because the mane and tail reflect the moonlight where it falls upon him. He could not hide if he wanted to, but lucky for Leilan, he never wants to hide from anyone. Maybe just except when he was escaping Loess a few weeks ago.
When he reaches the clearing that the creek creates, he nods to his new friend (they always turn out to be his friends, after enough time). "Good night, fellow wanderer."
there's something here that doesn't make sense
let's go and poke it with a stick
@[Tymber]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
Low hanging branches part and give way to a night traveler. The stranger is robed in silver and brown, colors not unlike Tymber's own. They stand not four yards from each other , multi toned gazes locked upon the other to decide just how much trouble they could be in with each other. It seems to be the new comer that decides Tymber couldn't (or possibly just wouldn't) do him much harm and approaches with a friendly greeting.
The slim stallion dips his head as the other approaches, acknowledging that he had in fact heard the strangers hello.
"Good night indeed."
The voice that slips into the night air is a kind one, not overly iced with age or a hatred of the world, but it wasnt honeysuckle jasmine either. It is the tone of passerby. Its his way of trying to make a friend of this man.
If it turned out badly in the end the poor stags chances werent looking too good. The forest hued stranger was large in build (though their height was nearly the same) an easy match for the slim frame of Tymber's ancestry. Might as well make a friend of him then huh?
"Do you hail from here silver stranger?"
It is an attempt at small talk, perhaps the last attempt he will have to make if the stallion so chooses to speak to him.
Your beauty is beyond compare - oh, if I could hear but one song from you
I shall hail thee Queen of Birds...
The nighttime is rather silent, what with spring well on it’s way. It won’t be too long until summer comes upon them, the faded bay thinks to himself. But the waterside is cool and forgiving, and when the stranger (oh, he has his ears all weird) comments neutrally, he thinks perhaps he’s not into conversatoin today.
But then, by all means he makes a more casual conversation, and Leilan shrugs. ”If you’re asking this particular forest, then no, I officially live on a more tropical island with my bachelor brothers. But all of that is still Beqanna, and you don’t smell like either land around here, so I’m assuming you don’t know about the brotherhood in Ischia.” In fact there is a dry sandiness upon his smell, that once Leilan thought might be one from the Deserts, but since then the lands have changed and there is no such a place around here any longer.
”To what do I owe the pleasure of such a question, my curly-eared friend?” He can’t help himself, he has to know, and also, while we’re calling eachother by part of our looks now, the ears are the most weird thing about the stud before him, so he cannot help but call them out.
In a cheeky, friendly manner of course.
there's something here that doesn't make sense
let's go and poke it with a stick
@[Tymber]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
Lengthy limbs help the male find sanctuary in the cool creek water. It trickles over his pasterns and in turn sends shockwaves of melted ice into his fur, cooling the broiling skin beneath. Surprisingly the heat here matched the weather in Orpheus, perhaps it was even hotter. Unforgiving humidity could quite possibly drive the painted stag wild one day. It made the days hot and (somehow) the night impossibly hotter. It was as if the mulch covered ground here trapped the warmth with a fury.
In any case he could grow used to the weather, his kind adapted...they grew.
"I am not from around here you a right in that my friend."
Tymber vocalizes, marble eyes sliding over the unnamed stud once more. Attractive and mysterious. Tymber liked. Slender crest stretches forward to close a distance between them , its a friendly gesture when the creamy male lips at the others poll. A sign of peaceful curiosity where he was from.
"I know nothing of this brotherhood-"
He pulls away and relaxes his shoulders,
searching for his next answer.
"To enlighten you, I am Tymber. I have come to ...."
He waits then for the stallion to tell him where exactly he was. There is a whispering in his mind that curls around his conscious and squeezes with a fierce longing.
'Taigaaaaaa.....'
It is a smokers sigh that floats into the air and disappears in the fog of his mind, but that is not the answer he seeks.
"I have come to seek refuge. My home is... gone for lack of a better word."
Said curly ears tip forward as he speaks , head lolling slightly to the side with a sigh.
"I have found myself homeless for the first time in my life dear stranger. Im afraid I dont know what the hell im supposed to do."
Unintentionally he has spilled much of his life to the silvery male. Too late to return the words he supposes. The worst things the stranger could tell him was the lands they stood upon offered no vacancy to strangers. At this point anything would be better than nothing.
Your beauty is beyond compare - oh, if I could hear but one song from you
I shall hail thee Queen of Birds...
The gold-and-silver roan tilts his head at the stranger, his new curly-eared friend is a curious one, giving him a curious Leilan to deal with also. The stallion calls anyone his friend most of the time, though, he does have a few good friends that actually are his friends, so to speak. The marwari is not one ofthose, or not yet anyway, and the stockier of the two is a little surprised at the ancient way of friendly submissiveness he shows, but it is not unwelcome, because that particular spot happens to itch now or then.
He finishes the sentence then, unaware of the ghostly answer that Tymber has already recieved. ”Beqanna?” He tries not to be superstitious, but he does not like to name the demon-laced forest aloud while he’s actually in it. Even though he loves to explore, he never is here longer than a day.
”This forest is not such a good home. The fairies... ah, you don’t know of course. Well, in short then. Beqanna, this whole island, has several kingdoms in it, this being one of them. But there is also magic, in many forms, like this one,” he builds up his frosty aura to make the point, and moves his mostly-golden tail with the metallic hairs in it for good measure too. ”And many others. They’re gifts from the gods and the fairies, who keep the land whole. Well, in short there was something evil brewing here and the fairies used magic to get it and everyone here, out. Some died and, perhaps something of even greater evil lives here now instead. I wouldn’t recommend staying here longer than, say, a day.” he shakes his head. ”But, to the east of here are several common lands, the forest, the meadow, and the field. Also a riverland northwest of here, which will eventually lead into the kingdom of Hyaline. If you’re looking for a home, go to the field and the meadow, I’m sure you’ll find recruiters there. Or make the swim to Ischia and ask for Brennen, tell him Leilan sent you.” he winks. He hasn’t spoken this much since... well, if you don’t count the Tournnament’s debate round, since convincing Breckin that she’s worthy of herself and Nerine, truly. Odd, that he would do the same for Tymber. He must have something helpless about himself maybe.
there's something here that doesn't make sense
let's go and poke it with a stick
@[Tymber]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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