"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
Crisp air nips at her nose as she wanders, aimlessly, amongst the fields. Baby blue eyes roll to send a brief glance up at the sky. The serene hue of the cloudless atmosphere is nearly just the same shade as her crystalline orbs. She snorts and rests her gaze back upon the trail she treads. As calming as it honestly all is, with the leaves falling around her and the robins twittering, she doesn’t feel happy. Because, in Eirlys’s rather stoic opinion, there is a sharp line that divides the two emotions: happy and bouncy versus relaxed and contented.
And, to be fair, she is content overall. Content with life, maybe. But the actual deep-seated emotions as a separate deal are a whole other story. A thing that reasoned her trek out into the Meadow. After everything that has happened back home, those miles and miles away, how should she be all smiley and.... well, content. Calming down seemed almost impossible now at this point.
So, with that said, she just halts to stand, flanks heaving, atop a patch of dark grass. It is lush, the dew-sprinkles blades tickling past her hocks. Her eyes blink wide, as she recalls the previous, yet recent events that have flown past her life. The memories come rushing in like a tsunami of sorts, drowning her. Engulfing her in their shrouding shots of agony. Perhaps some other horse will arrive to notice her, as she stands quivering in the field. Even so, what good would such an encounter do.
04-16-2021, 03:17 PM (This post was last modified: 04-16-2021, 03:17 PM by Chemdog.)
He had missed whatever she had done that got her breathing heavy, quivering. But the sight of it made him very curious indeed. He rolls forward on those strong sturdy legs, those big feet of his barely any curly feather spilling over them, but enough to give him the slightly drafty effect of having elegantly feathered ankles. He moves with lofty grace, his legs picking up high in a trot that makes him seem to glide across the grass. Irisaen curled tightly around his left ear like some sort of iridescent ornament.
“Hello there.” the morning light washed over his painted coat, glimmering with fresh cleanliness (he likes to wade in the river, it keeps him rather neat). He slows to a stop at a polite distance, but near enough to talk. He almost broaches the fact that she seems fresh off of fleeing from something, but he supposes, in that instant, that may steer the interaction in an unpleasant direction if she really is running from something. Irisaen flicks her tongue toward the dappled mare, and Chem smirks, lowering his head from its naturally high position. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he looks outward from where they stand, “It is nice to finally seen the gold of the sun.” His teal eyes rove back to her, he resists letting them sink to wander her body, staying with her face. He searches her expression for a reaction; was she here for the eclipse? Does she know what happened?
Suddenly the word gold echoes in his mind. It briefly takes him away, to Bible, to her gold smooth skin. The chill of her metal and the ghostly ring in her voice. The darkness, the memories flood him, his shoulder aches at the rush of it all moving through his mind behind his eyes. Where there was a monstrous gash across his shoulder is now a roughly healed slash scar, three jagged lines left from enormous fangs. Sharp teeth, with a long fang in the center, clank as he moves, tightly woven into his thick black mane somewhere before his speckled withers. A trophy – and the shadow-mare that saved him after, finding him limp in the river, attacked and poisoned, she had the other souvenirs.
He wonders if she lived through it too, or if she was lucky enough to arrive after.
04-16-2021, 03:57 PM (This post was last modified: 04-16-2021, 04:25 PM by Eirlys.)
EIRLYS
It is too much to handle, far too much. And yet this sort of thing was all the while a frequent occurrence for the dappled mare. Remembering her family, the cheery little luxury of a childhood she’d actually had the nerve to think would last. Would last longer than it did, at the very least. Why does everyone hate her? Even if it wasn’t everyone, the mare could never be certain of the brutal battlefield that was the wold, it seemed. She grits her teeth at this realization, frustrated with the world but more so with her own self. The muscles in her throat strain with inward, grinding agony. What had caused this sudden gut-wrenching assault on her emotions, she hadn’t a clue. But she is hating every second of it, for she does not deserve such an onslaught.
Her ears ring and thus the footfalls that soon approach her are seldom heard. But she catches his figure from the corner of her orb; a black-and-white splashed blur when paired with the tears welling toward the glossy bottoms of her eyes. He is massively built, she discovers once the tears, moments later, dry out. The hooves are probably bigger than her entire physiognomy. And yet, he’s radiating with a friendly aura. Cautiously Eirlys notes the snake coiled around his muscly neck, but she turns anyway in order to connect with his gaze. Even if his welcoming nature is just a way to lure her in, she is nevertheless oblivious. Something about the stallion just draws her forward. As she knew some creature would have probably approached her earlier on, she can’t say she’d expected for them to be this.... friendly.
But she finds her eyes narrowing at the male anyway, despite still appreciative of his goodly attitude. A frontal hoof, which she to her own surprise hasn’t noticed is now smeared with dirt, scuffs the earth. It is a strange conglomeration of feelings, one that is for once not so noticeably divided. Her muscles are loose and her heart rate back to its typical rate, yet her words drip with a suspicion of kinds. ”To what do I owe you here?” she inquires — hesitantly. It strikes her then, though. The male clearly is of no ill intention, and with this realization she regrets her words instantly. Her eyes snap wide, the complete opposite of their previously assumed positions. ”My apologies, Mister. Life hasn’t been the sweetest lately..”
He quirks his head to the side when she responds with something that might translate to, “So what do you want?”. He smirks, chuckling to himself. The small iridescent snake coiled around his ear still inspecting the mare as he adjusts his stance, relaxing an ankle. He’s surprised when she takes it back, apologizing. He looks back out toward the horizon before answering her. “I know the feeling.” he looks back over to her, his teal eyes glinting in the sunlight, he long forelock swept to the side. “I take no offense at all.”
He pauses, stealing a few glances over her body, a little rude but nothing too crass. He doesn’t let his gaze linger long, bringing it back to her own eyes. “I’m Chemdog.” he lets his whole name slip, which he usually shortens. He gathers she missed the eclipse, or at least didn’t see the same things he saw. It’s probably better that way, then, to not have to revisit it. “What brings you to the Meadow?” he pries gently.
04-16-2021, 09:41 PM (This post was last modified: 04-16-2021, 09:49 PM by Eirlys.)
EIRLYS
He accepts it. The apology. A strange response, one Eirlys was yet to have personally received. She flicks an ear. The stallion, she establishes, can be trusted — an acknowledged trait of the guy for which she is thankful for. But it is still a mystery why he had bothered to come speak alongside her. As far as Eirlys has been concerned, hardly any horse these days even cared to, at the very least, consider her bare existence. Lost in the thought, entranced, the mares next words waterfall out with absentminded regard.
”It’s the only place left I have to go, these lands.” Her eyes stare vacantly into those of the male’s reptilian partner as she admits it. Maybe if her mind were fully fixed on the exchange at hand, she wouldn’t have spoken any of it.
Again, regret.
At her own self. Because Eirlys was no good horse. She didn’t think so, certainly. Maybe it was just a part of her age, as her grandmother had always liked to say. Or maybe everything that had happened to her truly had been for a cause.
She continues on, and this time her orbs have met with the man’s once more. ”I ditched my family. Or rather, they ditched me.” Is it a sob story, absolutely it is. Yes. And a rather pathetic one with that. But it is the simple, straightforward truth. Eirlys was a blunt woman, anyway. What regard should she hold for any horse, now. The world was no longer a place deserving of her sympathy.
”Yourself? You seem an.... intriguing individual..” She smirks, lips moist with the tears she had been only moments ago letting free. Her eyes strive to match the body-skimming gaze she’d noticed him give.
“The only place in the world left to go – or in Beqanna?” he questioned, wondering if she is new or if she is a native, like him. She doesn’t smell like anywhere in Beqanna, she has no soil smell, or bark scent wafting from her fur. She smells fresh, like breeze, and that is usually the scent of an immigrant form afar. His ear lays back to the sound of her sorrows, he quickly thinks of his family, his daughter, his children – some he knows, many he does not, same with his plethora of grandchildren and even a few great grandchildren. It was important to his grandfather that the lines keep, and go strong. Chem holds his heritage dear, and cannot imagine abandoning any of them in need, and he isn’t a particularly generous guy either.
He adjusts his stance, flicking his tail. “What a shame.” his teal eyes tip down to her, but not quite as predatory as normal, a bit more paternal. “But fortunately family can be what you make it.” he clears his throat with a snort, “I’ve come close to many a soul not born into my lineage. You’ve got to be better off, anyway.”
He laughs at her last bit – intriguing, eh? “Ha, yeah, I have my moments.” he blinks, looking out into the vast rolling grass sea. “I like to roam sometimes.” he takes a deep breath, keeping his eyes out to the mountains far off. “And the Meadow is always an interesting place to land – you meet all kinds of folks here.” His eyes slide back to her face, a crooked smile on his inky lips.
04-17-2021, 04:42 PM (This post was last modified: 04-17-2021, 04:43 PM by Eirlys.)
EIRLYS
She considers his question. Because while the answer in actuality is simple and honest, it isn’t an answer that clicks with her. Is Beqanna her last resort? Technically, it is, yeah. But the mare knows that, realistically, there is a wide range of places left to go. Things just didn’t feel that way.
She might as well answer him — at this point in time she has probably been pondering her response for more than a couple minutes. ”Elsewhere. I have only just discovered Beqanna.” The ears prick forward upon registration with the stallions proceeding words. Her eyes sidle off to the side, downcast. Eirlys is no pessimist, but even so his words strike her as completely reasonable.
”I suppose I should move forward, hm? My family wasn’t worth the attention anyway and they still are not.” And she’s going to leave it at that, the words quick and crisp. She only wants to prove herself true to her own words: her family story deserves no explanation nor does it deserve her worries and panic attacks. To further abandon the thought, Eirlys peers down at her own hooves. They’re still caked in dirt — a disgusting sight.
”I had better go cleanse myself off; you would know of a nearby river perhaps, hm? Your coat is quite sleek, if I do say so myself, so feel free to come with.” Her eyes rove the flowery grasses and she braves a step forward. Her tail beckons for the male.
”I should prolly introduce myself,” she begins a moment later. ”My name is Eirlys. A pleasure to meet you..” She lets her soft eyes blink into his from her position a few feet away.
Ah yes, he smiles to himself, nodding. She is not native to the magical lands of Beqanna, how wonderful and terrifying for her, he thinks to himself, bending an ear to her soft voice. He chuckles to himself, looking over to her, an almost paternal tone to his voice. “I think anyone should leave behind things that weigh them down, or make them unhappy.”
“A river?” he rolls forward onto a walk, big hooves scarring the ground as his picks up to a trot, looking over his shoulder back to the dappled girl. “The River!” he snorts, throwing his head westward, rearing. He starts at a slow canter, held back, waiting for her to catch up. He leads her to the riverside, Beqanna’s great river cuts straight through, and is in its most glorious capacity just to the south of the Meadow. The piece he’s taking her too is still within the Meadow, close by, a shallow lower moving chunk of the river that’s more like a pond with surrounding marsh. It isn’t boggy, but clean, and full of brightly colored carp. Willow trees and alder clusters grow on the banks and tall cat-nine tails line the water’s edges. It is a little hidden oasis.
He laughs, “Eirlys.” he says her name, committing it to memory. By now they’ve arrived at the water and he walks in, “Lovely to meet you.” he wades in deeper, to his spackled chest, drinking the water and watching a huge yellow fish swim under his nose.
It seems the only sort of thing that will dribble down, practically, from the stallion’s words are inspirational truth, or at least perhaps in Eirlys’s opinion. She studies him once more for a second, taking care to briefly return his glance at her. Was that of affection? Of something lesser, maybe, or of something more, she could never be certain — much less so with the types of horses here, with their odd spiraling horns and wings, whatever it was that just made them... abnormally frightening. Eirlys was not to be intimidated so easily, however — another stupid thing she irresistibly carried around that had to do with her parents. She eyes the male ahead again, momentarily, alongside the ire-brimmed thought. ”True that,” she responds, at last, the couple of words a drawl of iron-grip resentment. She will, likely, halt the memories at some point in the future, but if they were hard to get rid of, they were hard to get rid of. For now, that was simply that.
Her ears twitch up as she catches his comment on a river. Well, from how things sound, he at least knows of one, so that could definitely be appreciated. Somewhat absentmindedly, the mare begins to tread along at his heels, her gaze on her hooves.
”Thanks for the help, by the way” she tells him, quickening her pace in an effort to catch up. ”So, Chemdog, tell me... What was it that dragged you here? Was I really looking that, maybe, miserable?” A slight chuckle punctuates her words, and she eyes him sidelong, curiously, from beside.
05-29-2021, 05:50 AM (This post was last modified: 05-29-2021, 05:50 AM by Chemdog.)
He listens carefully while he watches the fish gather and nibble at his feathering flowing in the currents, his big feet planted on the pebble floor of the riverbed. The sound of rushing water keeps the pair secluded from the rest of the world around them. He always prefers it this way – just a girl and him. His assessment is that she’s beautiful, young, and calculative. That is useful in life, and wisdom will soon follow those qualities. She’ll be relieved to know that climbing the mountain, visiting the fae, can bring you anything you desire – almost – including scary horns or sketchy appearances. Chem remembers the days when everyone was simply plain, and the magicians were a rarity. Magic was coveted, even segregated from the rest of the world. The Forbidden Dale. The names echoes in his mind and he realizes he’s gotten lost in his thoughts for a moment, snapping back when she asks him a last question.
He peels out of the river, up the bank, shaking somewhere off to the side so he may not get her with the spray. His thick tail is heavy with water and he tosses it with effort, splashing it left and then right, and then a few times up and down. It was a burden to have such thick locks, he sometimes complains, but the alternative (the thin wisps of arab bloodlines) isn’t it either. He digresses, laughing at himself and her question at once, smiling like an old uncle addressing a child. “Well,” he chuckles, walking a little closer now that he’s shaken the excess water from his sleep marbled coat. “I’m a wanderer a lot of the time – I’ve always been a vagabond of sorts.” That’s not entirely true, but he lets it be for now. “Recently though,” he breathes, almost a sigh but otherwise just clearing his lungs. “I’ve gotten myself a chunk of land for myself, north of here on the coast, and I intend to build a herd there.” He grins, satisfied with his own answer, he’s never heard himself say it out loud. But those are indeed his plans.
