"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
She spent the morning as a pony (round and yellow as a pat of butter), and the afternoon as a shire stallion with black eyes and a blacker scowl. This evening she’s splashed in red and white, a chestnut tobiano with a mane and tail as pale as dressed flax. The sun has begun to set, adding an indigo hue to her coat, but the spring night is warm enough that she does not seek shelter even when the moon finally begins to rise.
There are places she could go, but she does not turn toward them.
Instead she circles the large lake in the center of the meadow, her round hooves beating a narrow path into the black silt. She marks her rounds by the times she passes the half-submerged log, where a resting loon peers at her with red eyes from her nest in the reeds. Though she waits for weariness, it neglects her, and the sky grows black around her and stars begin to appear, reflected perfectly in the still water. The meadow is quiet, and the soft jingle of her earrings and anklets seem unnaturally loud in the night air.
There is nothing about the strange mare that seems inviting, nothing about the coming night that tells Astri she should seek out companionship, especially with her youngest at her side. Dacia is weary from the day's excursions, she’s trailing a few feet behind her green mother with her neck loose and her head drifting low to the earth. In fact, in any normal situation Astri would drag the poor little girl back home for a warm night’s sleep. But there’s something about the mare that catches her eye (besides the fact that her inviting curves are only illuminated by the setting sun.) Astri watches her quietly from afar, watches as the mare’s coat changes shade, and then she makes her move.
When the moon has made her appearance Astri ushers her new daughter into a close-knit crop of reeds by the waterfront. The little green girl nestles in, her skin slowly changing to match the exact color of shadows splayed across her. In a few moments, her daughter is invisible and Astri smiles warmly, peering back up to the strange mare before moving to intercept her. The night washes over her, cloaking her usually vibrant green fur in a dark cloak. Everything is dull in the night - everything except the gold-clad mare standing near the lip of the lake.
“You look … exceptional.” She calls out when she draws near, ears falling forward to show her willingness to be friendly. “But also terribly, terribly alone. Do you mind if I join you?” She asks, smiling softly. She stops near her, but not close enough that the mare will be uncomfortable. Her nostrils flare and she peers out over the still waters, catching sight of the bird. The silence draws out for a moment while the creatures of dusk create their own music. “I’m Astri, by the way. I couldn’t help but notice your coat changing earlier … at dusk. Do you … are able to do that at will?”
Though she’s aware of the other horses around her, Djinni makes no attempt to contact them. She is not particularly desirous of conversation, but when the green mare steps up to greet her Djinni still offers her a soft smile. She glances down at the compliment for only a moment – she knows how to take a compliment without appearing too incredibly vain – and smiles again, more genuinely, at the following statement.
“I don’t mind at all,” she says, her voice husky but not at all unkind.
For a while they are both quiet, and Djinni realizes that she has stopped her pacing to stand beside the green mare. She follows Astri’s gaze across the water, seeing for the first time the bright eyes of the resting loon. It looks as alone as Astri has pointed out Djinni is, but the tobiano mare suspects that there is a passel of nestlings resting beneath the waterbird’s speckled body. There is a foal nearby, she realizes, and when she turns back to listen to Astri, the half-familiar smell of warm child and milk make it obvious that the child she smells likely belongs to the green mare. It is not visible though, and Djinni wonders if perhaps it is asleep somewhere out in the shadows.
“Yes,” she replies to Astri’s question, and as she nods her head in accompaniment to the answer color is rippling across her skin. The red fades to a smoky dun and her flaxen mane and tail darkens to black. She is shrinking as she does so as well, returning to her svelte figure rather than the bulky warmblood physique. The bracelets on her ankles clink softly, adjusting themselves to her changing size. “This is the real me.” She says when she is herself again, and her smiles is somewhat more mischievous than it was on the plain-faced chestnut paint. “And you? Are you always green?”
As is with all things unusual and fascinating, Djinni seems rather proud of her ability to change her appearance at the drop of a hat. Astri wears a smile that is genuine and comely, her bi-colored eyes lighting up with some unspoken source of excitement. It was always a queer joy to her to see others abilities in action. Unlike her children, Astri had only her color to make her unique among the rest, and what little skills she had, she attributed to hard work and practice. The mare changes shape, size, and color without so much as a blink, and Astri is suddenly glad that her daughter has some minor form of what she’s seeing. To be gifted was a blessing in this world.
“Well hello then, real you. My name is Astri.” She laughs in reply, the thin sound high and uncommonly cheerful. The mares question sparks only a sly grin, the tilt of one slender ear, and Astri’s clever retort. “Oh yes, always the same color on the outside, but constantly changing on the inside.” She admits to herself that she envies the ability to reinvent one’s self at will, if only slightly. The possibilities would be endless. But she doesn’t focus on the facts that she cannot change, Astri enjoys looking ahead at what is to come.
“Is there a reason you’re out here, all alone?” She queries, curiosity suddenly piquing. She had other questions for her, this strange skin-changer, but she won’t expose her daughter to a possible threat, and in Beqanna no mother can ever be too careful. So she poses the question politely enough and rather enjoys the fact that she’s got such a lovely companion all to herself - if only for a moment.
Astri’s laugh is bright and genuine, and Djinni smiles again. She does so enjoy emotions, and pleasant ones are all the more desirable. “I’m Djinni,” she says, her name a single smooth syllable that she knows is often hard for other tongues to replicate. Even her mother had never quite managed it, so Djinni is accustomed to adding: “But Jin is probably best.” Best for pronunciation, and best to not rouse her gift-giver from their slumber.
Astri confesses to being always the same color, and Djinni responds by reaching out and touching her dark muzzle to the other mare’s neck. “But a beautiful color,” says the dun mare, “It does suit you.” She does know that not everyone is as fond of touch as she is – she deals with Walter often enough – but she enjoys the warmth of another body and has always found comfort in touch. She is fortunate to be fetching enough to get away with her habits; for a woman with less looks her freedom of caresses might be interpreted far differently. But she is pretty and she does not worry –there will always be someone willing to tolerate her fancies.
Astri asks if she’s here for any reason and Djinni smiles as she shakes her head. “It’s just somewhere to be,” she says, “better than the Field, I think. Too many stallions there, building herds I’ve no interest in joining.” The dun mare shakes her head with a half-hearted sigh, clearly torn between amusement and exasperation at her previous experiences. “And you? What brings you to the Meadow?”
It’s a curious thing, to be alone for the sake of being alone. Astri used to be that way, she’d reveled in it, in fact. It was easier, less cumbersome, and left room for one to expand or disappear as they saw fit, without having to take anyone else into consideration. She’d never thought that she would’ve needed company, much less anyone else to worry over. That being said, when Lupei came along (more a mistake than Astri would ever admit) the little festive mare had quickly begun to sing another tune. She cannot imagine a world without her children in it.
But, there had always been something missing. Still a wrinkle in the otherwise perfectly smooth fabric of her life. Djinni’s touch awakens this thought in Astri’s mind, and suddenly it becomes poignantly clear just what that something was. The green mare blinks rapidly, but she does not draw away or flinch from the connection. It’s the first time she’s ever been touched by another horse, besides the one’s she’s created herself. “Thank you.” She replies, suddenly feeling her throat constrict.
Her mind is shadowy, and she inhales the night air deeply to regain her composure and calm her racing pulse. She laughs, almost a bitter sound, when Jin gives her explanation. “They never outgrow their ego’s, do they?” She offers, shaking her head in a show of mock humor. Stallions. What a joke. Ruled by all things physical. Her eyes flicker hesitantly back to the strangely alluring mare when she asks why Astri has come here. The Chamber warrior smirks, a single ear flicking back to the reeds where she’d stowed her daughter.
“I came here looking for help, but I think you’re exactly what I’m looking for.” She says, grinning slyly at the double entendre. Her head swings to the left, mouth pursing softly as she calls for her child. A few seconds pass, and then a slender little head pops up from the shadows. The filly rouses herself quickly and hops out from her spot, making her way over to the two elder mares at a brisk trot, wide smile lighting up her beautiful face. “This my youngest, Dacia.” She explains, stepping aside to let the filly in close.
Her daughter is only a few shades darker than her, a pleasant Olive green. “She can change her color, but not at will yet. I was hoping you could explain it to her a little bit.” Astri grows serious, eyeing the two of them for a moment before touching her nose to her daughter’s back. The girl’s eyes are locked fearlessly on Djinni, and as Astri blows hot air across her fur the coat changes to a dull red. Astri draws back to look at Jin softly, ears falling forward with rapt attention. “Thoughts?”
As much as she enjoys her solitude, the dun mare will always find her way back to someone. She is too primal in her need to be held to stay alone for long. It’s why she keeps finding Walter – he is a tether to remind her how far she can roam from Beqanna. To miss him is to know that it is time to return; time spent missing him is time spent thinking about him, and she would rather live in carefully constructed oblivion than risk the crushing failure of unrequited emotion.
Though she’s is not precisely guilty of schadenfreude, Djinni does hope Astri’s rapid breath is the result of their brief contact. She finds the green mare appealing and has always enjoyed the effect she has on others in this manner. Her ability to change herself to whatever the other finds most desirable has always been beneficial, though this may be the first time she’s ever only been herself. They share a brief moment of amusement at the folly of stallions, and Djinni does her best to over-analyze the sound of the other mare’s laughter, trying to see if Astri is as dismissive as all mares or if her derision is something more.
The request for help is not at all what she had expected, and before she can reply Astri is already calling out for the filly nestled in the reeds.
Djinni has never spent much time with children, at least not since she was a child herself. They are small and fragile things, so easily swayed and broken. It’s better to leave them be, to let those more responsible take charge. Over the years, her reluctance has developed into something akin to dislike; not because they are children, but because she does not trust herself and it is best to remain untempted. But Astri has placed the child directly in front of her, and Djinni cannot very well tell her that she’d rather not. Instead she smiles – because that is the polite thing to do – and says: “Hello Dacia.”
She’s never been sure how to speak in front of a child when she has no interest in conversing with the child itself, so she glances once more at Dacia and then back at Astri. “Can’t her father teach her?” She asks, tilting her head curiously for a moment before adding: “Or is he not…” there are more delicate ways to ask, but she finishes with “around?” The dun mare had been raised among a passel of full siblings - the byproducts of their parent’s adoration of each other – but she knows that not all families are like her own. Some are simply mares and their children, and that only until the child is old enough to be weaned.
Perhaps Dacia’s father is not around, or perhaps he is and the girl’s gift is a spontaneous eruption of Beqanna’s magic in unexpected places. She’s asked both to satisfy her own curiosity and to learn more about the green mare she stands beside. Astri might have a beloved mate waiting for her wherever home is, but perhaps she does not. Djinni is not disinclined to share (she’s disinclined to monogamy entirely despite her own family history) but she’d rather know what she’s dealing with.
“Picture a blue sky,” she says turning back to the filly, having made her decision to address the child in precisely the same manner she’d address and adult. “Close your eyes and imagine that all you can see is the sky. Let it fill your whole head.” That’s all it takes for Djinni: that complete focus on exactly what she wants. Perhaps Dacia will be the same.
