"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
Upon first gaze, he looked massive, coat a rippling flow of molten silver. From afar, he was formidable at best, stature proud and strong, even as he grazed. But at a closer look, one could see the half-healed scars that dotted his flanks, his legs, his neck. Noticeable sections of mane were gone, scratches on the skin below. For such a proud stallion as he was, wearing such gifts from battle were humiliating, but they were obvious and could not be ignored. But there was a hardness to his eye that betrayed the rather disheveled appearance, a tenseness in the muscled shoulder that hinted at a readiness to turn and fight if need be.
He'd learned to be prepared.
Even in such a soothing environment, with horses just like he all around, he could not relax. He was on edge, even as he grazed, his ears feigning relaxation while the reality was he was hyperaware of everything going on in his vicinity. To say he had issues with trust would be an understatement - not a soul had penetrated the walls he had erected around himself. So he kept on the alert, listening for any sign of approaching hooves.
How perfectly odd it could seem that the mare moves among the throngs of horses with a mission in mind. One may not notice but the warm brown pools flicker over bodies and faces alike as she searches. The pulse of the field always made her uncomfortable with the pressing of bodies and the endless yammer of the mingling voices. They sounded like hens cackling away. The buzz of voices throbbed in the ruby mare's ears but it was her job to seek out horses for the Dazzling Waterfalls.
The svelte frame moves among the wiggle of bodies gracefully till the twin pools find a face of a graying stallion. He is larger in height and girth than our silver haired vixen but she still approaches unfazed. The soft pools watch as she gives a soft melodic call to the uneasy male. Estonia can not read minds but she is rather empathetic. She can sense his anxiety of fleetingly before it is suppressed again. The sienna mare offers a small shy smile as she nears. "Hello." The soprano tones are velvety and rich. "I'm Estonia. What's your name?" Genuine curiosity brims in those honey pools as she works to meet the stallion's gaze. Long limbs dance the slender woman close but she is cautious in case he should lash out. Not all calm and quiet faces proved to be friendly. Not all stallions fancied a mare's approach but Estonia hoped the unnamed stag did. His uneasiness caused her alarm but she knew to be a warrior in the Falls one must face their fears. So now the red woman waits with pricked lobes and a small smile tugging the corners her lips. A small cool breeze moves between their bodies, caressing their cheeks and tangling their already knotted tresses.
The approach was not unnoticed. His ears turned to hear her steps, eyes glancing to the side to see the equine as they moved to him; another glance and a quick scenting told him it was a mare. He momentarily lowered his guard, his everlasting tensions, but raised them just as quickly. He knew from his own mother that mares were just as dangerous as they were pretty. He drew himself up, head raising as he turned his head her way, ears still back, but not nearly as hidden against his skull as moments prior.
Her voice was near to music to his pricked ears. A high soprano with gentle tones woven in below, her voice almost eased his wound-tight muscles. She approaches him cautiously but with the grace of a mare, and a smirk tugs at the ends of his mouth - a shadow of his cocky self. "Estonia." He didn't reply to her question, instead tasting the name on his tongue. She had a purpose, he could tell, and as she approached him closer he snaked his head towards her, clashing his teeth together as a warning to keep her distance. He didn't mind her being near, but she needed to keep a safer distance; he wasn't always so inclined to be kind towards mares.
"My entire name is not for you to know." His voice was husky, deep, fitting of a stallion his stature. "But you may call me Syden." He flicked his tail in her direction, the smirk playing at his lips once more. "You seem rather bold for a mare, lovely Estonia."
11-22-2015, 12:37 AM (This post was last modified: 11-22-2015, 12:39 AM by Hurricane.)
Scars are not a new sight to him. Not by a long shot. He has been fortunate in that the scars he has obtained naturally have been minimal and relatively invisible, especially when you take into account the fact that his coat is thick and shaggy more often than it is not. But the Tundra is rather well known for its scars. Not the scars of battle, but something far more significant. The loss of their scars had been alarming, unsettling, at first. But they are returning. Slowly, but nevertheless, they are returning. The faintest hint of the scar that would one day fully grace his shoulder can be seen in the brief summer months, when his coat shorter. Today though, his pale hair is thick and ruffled, already preparing for the rapidly encroaching tundra winter.
He is in the field again today, roaming the area as he has been so often of late. The Tundra needs men. Men willing to work and fight. Men who want to make something of themselves. Hurricane is here to find them.
It is true, not all are suited for the harsher lifestyle the Tundra provides. It takes a certain type of stallion to succeed there. He knows this all too well. But he would gain nothing if he did not try. So, to that effect, he is here, wings beating strongly as he makes another pass over the grassy expanse of the field.
When he sees them he almost continues on. Almost. Until he notes that they are, in fact, not like the majority of the small groups dotting the landscape. He eyes them for a moment, watching as the mare approaches the stallion, as she introduces herself. Dropping from the sky, he lands easily a short distance from the duo, tucking his large, pale wings neatly against his sides as he steps closer.
He has arrived in time to catch the tail end of the gray stallion’s words, discovering in this way that he is called Syden and the mare Estonia. He halts a comfortable distance from the pair, dipping his head slightly in greeting.
”I am Hurricane.” Pause. ”You’ll find, I think, that the bold mares in this land far outnumber the timid ones.”
Were it not for the stone-faced expression on his face, one might have thought he had actually cracked a joke there. But then, he is not particularly well known for his good humor. Oh, certainly, he has a sense of humor. But he has grown rather good at hiding it beneath the hard demeanor he so often presents.
”Am I safe in assuming you are here in search of a home?”
That is more like him. Blunt (sometimes to the point of rudeness, though it is not typically intentional), unwilling to waste time, and honest to a fault.
He almost didn't notice the stallion approach, he was focused on this mare - and focused on making her keep her distance. He would be a liar if he said the stallion's words didn't startle him. Ears pinned back briefly to show discomfort, he turned, noting the wings with thinly veiled surprise. This land was far stranger than he could've ever imagined, but he found he was less wound with the stallion in his presence. Odd.
But nonetheless, it was obvious the stallion had heard the tail end of their conversation, and he was not one to ignore. "Hurricane." He used the name as a greeting of its own, another glance over the stallion telling him the name seemed to fit him well, just as the name for the mare fit her boldness - very few mares he knew would happily approach an unfamiliar stallion. As did the bluntness of his question. Already he found himself noting the stallion's character, and how it seemed rather stoic as a whole. Strange that he would find himself more inclined to be in the stallion's presence; if the mare, Estonia, had been his, however, he knew he would be at the other stallion's throat in minutes. Such a strange character he is.
But Hurricane had, in fact, assumed correctly. Perhaps he seemed lost, but he would dwell on that later. "I am, in fact." He was curious as to what this stallion had to offer him. Perhaps it would suit him better, to leave with the stallion and not the mare. Speaking of, he glanced over to her, adjusting himself to see them both. Proud as he could be, this was unfamiliar territory, and he didn't like to play the fool. "I can presume you were to ask the same of me."
11-22-2015, 01:01 PM (This post was last modified: 11-22-2015, 03:18 PM by Estonia.)
The ruby and silver tressed creature watches the male snake out that thick skull...a clatter of yellowed incisors to warn her like the rattle on a snake's end. If the horses had eyebrows, one would be lifted with confusion. Really? A low sigh heaves from the whiskered lips. How tired she was of these stallions...so guarded, so moody. Like little colts trying to stray from mommy to prove how big and strong they are. How utterly fucking tiresome. Honestly the statuesque National Show Horse could simple turn and walk away and really not give one way or another about this snarky stallion but when another shows does she decide to stay.
The other is an ashy gray dappled with smoke rings. Upon his spine are the very wings that brought him into the conversation. The blood bay does not even feel territorial over this would-be claim. In fact, she finds herself more so curious about the events to play out. Obviously, this male that dubbed himself Syden had a nice little idea that mares were one in the same. She snorts daintily, mockingly at the rugged beast. "Bold? You think I am bold?" She flicks a smirk off the end of her lips like sweat off her brow. "And yes, I was indeed willing to offer you a kingdom for a home but perhaps you would be off with Hurricane." Tones are a low lullaby from the depths of her throat. Dark pools scrape over his frame, the scars and the matted hair. He had seen better days but Estonia knew he enjoyed his appearance. He enjoyed the fear he caused with a stinging tongue and clicking teeth. She remains unfazed but perhaps a bit amused by him. The pools drift towards the feathered male as she politely awaits his turn in this game.
you and I both know that the house is haunted and you and I both know that the ghost is me
The Gates needed soldiers. Heaven knows that they did. The tension that was rippling through Beqanna could not be ignored and while Magnus was working himself to the bone in an attempt to ready themselves for it, he could not do it alone. They needed alliances [and who wanted to ally with a kingdom that had no army?] and they needed soldiers to be ready to protect the kingdom when it came down to it. Mast, Kronk, and Magnus may be strong fighters, but they could not hold off armies on their own.
They needed soldiers. They needed warriors.
So hope flares in his chest when he sees the strong stallion, riddled with scars so like his own, standing in the field. Hope blooms, and he makes his way over immediately, his golden wings tucked into his side. Two others have already approached by the time that he has arrived, but he doesn’t let that deter him. Instead, he just walks up quietly, his gold-flecked eyes burning as he surveys the group of them and nods.
“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” his voice was deep, whiskey-honey. It was the voice of a soldier who had learned how to play the diplomat even though it wasn’t his first choice. It was the voice of a stallion who had seen too much in this life and his first. A stallion who was desperately trying to save a home that was not his, but one he had adopted regardless. “My name is Magnus.” He turned his attention from the other two recruiters to the stallion in question, considering him silently for a second. “The ways of this land can be strange,” he conceded, before he asked what he considered the be most important question of all. “But you will get used to it. What are you looking for a home?” He just hoped silently the Gates would fit.
He had but just heard the mare's reply, bristling slightly at the smirk she threw him. He was raised to believe that mares should submit, at least somewhat, to a stallion, but this mare spit in the eyes of tradition. Gutsy, but more than a little irritating. And the stallion seemed more his style, anyways - shaggy as he was, he seemed rugged, wise. He felt he had the potential to enjoy his company.
But as he turned his head, he saw yet another stallion moving towards him - these lands seemed rather desperate for his kind. Never had so many approached him at once. It certainly sparked his pride. He, however, noted the quietness of this new stallion, the deepness of his voice and the way he moved. He felt himself torn, almost, between the two. "Magnus." He tested the name and dipped his head to the new member of their little gathering, ears pricking as he talked. He appreciated the recognition of the strangeness of this place, and he was not surprised to hear the question yet again.
"I am Syden." He chose instead to introduce himself, pausing before addressing the question. "I have been offered a spot with Hurricane." His head tilted towards the stallion; "And I assume Estonia was to ask me the same." He met Magnus's eyes steadily, shifting on his feet. What power he had in this situation! "I know not of any of your motives. What would make me accept your invitation, any of yours?"
The red mare seems to take offense at something the other man had done or said. He flicks a brief, assessing glance at her, trying to determine where she might hail from. When it is not immediately obvious, he turns his gaze back to the gray stallion. It is true, his actions if not his words had been somewhat dismissive. But then, as far as he is concerned, better to know immediately whether your time here is wasted or not. Had the stallion brushed him off in such a manner, he likely would have left. He has little interest in trying to coerce men into joining him in his home.
Of course, he says none of this. Blunt and honest he might be, but foolish he is not.
It is then that another stallion decides to join their small party, inserting himself easily into their conversation with an apology. Hurricane eyes the man (Magnus, he had introduced himself as) with faint interest. He had seen the stallion around the field often of late (it would have been hard to miss him) though this is the first time they had met.
When Syden begins speaking again, Hurricane turns his attention back to the newcomer. He doesn’t respond the man’s question immediately, instead considering him for a long moment. Not because he doesn’t know what to say, but rather because he wonders what this man’s motive might be.
”I imagine any one of us could offer you much the same thing. A home, a purpose. Promotions, opportunities, if you prove yourself.”
He pauses, ruffling his wings as his steely gaze fixes challengingly onto the gray stallion.
”To be honest, the Tundra is a harsh land. If you’re looking for an easy, soft life, you’re better off going with either one of these two. Beyond the standard incentives any kingdom can offer, the best you’ll get is a certain knowledge of your strength and a world that recognizes you for what you are.”
That is probably the truest thing he has ever said. The Tundra is a hard land, but all of Beqanna knows Tundra men when they see them.
There isn't much to say. There is even less to do. The mare knows how this will pan out so next option was to be a lady about the situation.
Honey colored eyes shift to acknowledge the granite-gray male. With a dip of the skull and then a quirky smile on her lips the red mare bids him a good day. With practiced grace, the woman shifts to look to the buckskin and she repeats the movement...smile upon lips before finally moving to face the stallion that she had first encountered. Despite the turn of events, she would not donate anymore precious time to the situation. The mare dips her skull in the same fashion whilst giving the little smile. She would hold nothing against him despite his ugly demeanor towards her. "Good day, gentlemen." Low velvet-rich tones sum up her participation in this conversation. Estionia sidesteps and turns to take her leave from the group. Today would not be the day for her first recruit.
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