"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
Since his arrival in the Valley, Rodrik has yet to step into the sunlight. He constantly hides himself within the shadows, only venturing out when the hour of the wolf comes at night. There has yet to a reason for him to venture out willfully into the open and meet those that call this place his home. The Valley is not his home and never will be. He is a prisoner here, atoning for some sins he seems to have committed – as if Eight, the king of this place, knew of his sins and what he has seen in his life.
However, the draw of familiar scents, the humid heat of the jungle and sharp scent of pine trees, draw him out of the shadows. The red stallion moves with determined strides and a sullen expression across his lips. Rodrik has no intention of hiding his displeasure being held in this kingdom. One day he will be free of this place and have what revenge he might need. But will he truly seek revenge on his own daughter for trading him for a crown? He has yet to decide.
Rodrik spots his brother. His displeasing look slips away, which is easily replaced by a warm, sweet grin. The red stallion is glad to at last see his younger brother. This time, however, he brings company he has not expected – a nephew. “It is good to see you have not forgotten about me, Kavi.” The grin on his lips grows wider now. Rodrik knows very well his younger brother would not forget him so easily or trade him for something that meant nothing. Their bond was stronger than anything – they were family after all. His gaze then turns towards the young boy at Kavi’s side, whom he had taken notice of when approaching before. “A handsome fellow you are, Bergamot. You must’ve gotten that from your mother.” He adds with a wink and then turns towards Kavi.
“He smells of the Jungle, Kavi. Who is the lucky lady?” He says with a smile. The jungle brings many good memories to his mind, so it is no surprise when Rodrik speaks with a warm voice and friendly expression on the subject. He was raised there and shared many memories with his parents and siblings. Yet, he often thinks of Brunhild and whatever happened to her as queen. Rodrik liked the roughed mare and had even considered her a friend, which truly never happened with those that he interacted with. He is often manipulative with others and regards their feelings with not much care.
Do you believe you're missin' out?
That everything good is happening somewhere else?
From afar, it is clear that Rodrik is obviously displeased. A stormy look dances on my face in the moments between our first words, one which reflects everything upon the bay's handsome face. I understand what he is feeling, if not from personal experience then from knowing him so intimately. When his the skin beneath his eyes crinkle and his dark lips stretch into a smile, my golden face does the same. Copycat, one might say, but I say: fuck you.
"I keep asking myself why that is; it seems that the universe simply cannot keep us apart." The jibe bounces lightly off of his statement, the red hews in my amber eyes lightening as the tension between us fades - for the moment. A chuckle rumbles from deep within me as I step forward to nip Rodrik's neck affectionately, though it isn't very gentle. My childhood years of playing chase with Rodrik and Rayelle are some of my fondest memories, but what I remember now happens to be mine and my brother's spars. I remember him always winning;perhaps this inspires some of our little disconnect between us. Ah, well. Tension is not necessarily a bad thing.
My elegant head turns to Bergamot with a large grin, not because Rodrik's joke is funny, but because it is true. His beauty is truly taken from Pomona, at least in my eyes. Everything about him screams Pomona, besides his palomino coat, wordless mouth, and illustrative coat. The first screams Rayelle, and the second, Rhaego, and the third of myself. A shame that I have been carrying the defect in my blood, a shame that I doubt I will ever forgive myself for. But I digress; Rodrik wishes to know just who my darling woman might be.
Without speaking, I turn to face the length of my body at Rodrik. An image forms dubiously, sluggish in comparison to how Bergamot has begun to spin his web of images. In half a minute, Pomona stands clear as day on my fine barrel, rugged, liver chestnut, older, but amazing. Stunning. The way I perceive her is obvious in my image; her brown eyes twinkle, her chevron tattoo mirrors the one on my front right leg, her curves are accentuated and there's a sultry look masking her regularly calm, romantic demeanor. A love-struck grin sweeps my features, but it disperses as I lose control of my powers. I haven't been gone long enough from the Chamber to have full access, but I plan on using it as much as I can before my return to the evil kingdom.
"Pomona," I state simply as I turn back to my first position. A playful smirk comes over my lips, the glint in my eyes one of a trickster. "You might do well to look for a mate in the Jungle, brother. I'm sure Bergamot here agrees." Instead of meeting my son's eyes as one might expect, I look to his barrel for a response, and then his head for either a shake, nod, frown, or smile. My smile twists slightly when I realize that I haven't yet explained my son's disability... It is, after all, a hushed subject. (Har).
"He inherited father's muteness." My voice is quiet, but blunt. There really is no other way to go about this, however much it pains all three of us. I nuzzle Bergamot's jaw, realizing with a jolt that I no longer need to lean down to do so. Refusing to admit that my son is growing, I nuzzle for a moment longer before turning back to Rodrik. "But enough of us; what plans do you have to get out of this hell hole? Though if we're going by your alter-ego, you really should fit in quite well, mister Devil sir." It is now my turn to wink. "But all of us here are smarter than to fall for such a lame facade. You're no devil, unless the devil is a sap who loves his whole family more than he'd like to admit."
Bergamot is shocked, to be honest. Of all the whispers he has heard of Rodrik(and the boy has heard enough, closed lips open ears), none of them resembled this smiling man. True, there was a sense of devilishness to him, but the golden colored boy could see his own father in the red stallion and that was comforting to him. The yearling relaxed visibly, his hazel eyes crinkling in a grin that looked oddly like his uncle's as Rodrik suggested that his good looks came from his mother. Bergamot always felt he looked more like his father, but in truth he appeared much like both. His muscular body was his mother's but his fine lines were clearly a hand-down from Kavi's side of the family.
The boy would probably never know the burden of guilt his father carried over his mute tongue, and wouldn't understand even if he did. Pragmatic, the palomino yearling didn't see his flaw as genetic, but simply something that happened. It was as much a part of who he was as his golden coat and pale mane. As he realizes that his father is using their shared trait, he trots around to see the image being shown to his uncle with interest all over his face. It's odd to see his mother as sultry, so different from the motherly smiles, but the love is clear in her eyes and Bergamot gives a childishly happy smile to his father. There were more than enough children who weren't fortunate enough to have parents who loved one another, even if separated by distance and dogma.
For perspective, he shows his own image of his mother. Her liver coat is dappled by sunlight as she dips her head to drink, unaware she's being watched. Golden wings made of light glisten from her shoulders and golden chevrons kiss each dark cheek. Stocky, matronly, but somehow strong but delicate of face. The image fades and Bergamot replaces it with his own image as his father comes to show his affection. The yearling returns it eagerly, not so arrogant in his age to refuse the simple gesture and when Kavi returns to speak to Rodrik, Bergamot follows close at hand. His hazel eyes are as interested in his uncle's answer as his father seems to be. It's an exciting prospect and it speaks to the young stallion.
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