anyone;

[Aeris]

In the dead of night she slipped away from the Valley. It's where she was born, but it isn't her home. She has to be someone entirely different there and put on a facade that she can't live up to. Unlike her father Cerva will never be a bringer of any type of chaos and unlike mother she doesn't have any sort of dark or power-hungry streak. It's as though she has been deprived of the traits that so readily fill her veins. At one point in time she wanted to make them proud and to be everything they wanted, but the pressure was too great. The weight held her down as she faked being a strong and driven child. She is the daughter of the dark magician and the mother of spring and yet Cerva doesn't feel like herself when she is around them.

The heat of her breath spirals in front of her pretty face as she takes another step forward. A gnarled oak stands alongside her, hovering its bare branches above her head. The colors of autumn are quickly diminishing. Shades of orange, red, and yellow, are wilting into blacks and browns. Leaves are shriveling and fluttering to the ground at her feet. She watches one in particular until it delicately lands on her nose. A grin brightens her face as the soft touch glides down her skin until drifting toward the ground to join the other fallen leaves. Mother may be weakening now, she muses, because warmth and sunshine are fleeting this time of year. No, mother will be fine; she always is. She is strong like father, like Nihlus and Daemron. A strong, driven family.

Blinking slowly, Cerva lifts her attention to the knots of conversation happening in front of her. She doesn't join them as she finds solace in the old oak tree, basking in the silence and freedom that she now has.

Cerva

[trying her out, thus the reason I don't have her as an attached account lol]

[Trystane]

It is steep, it is stone. Such recovery.
From the daily press, the deepest nest, the keeper's keep.

He prefers the golden hours — the soft blush of dawn or the ruddy wind-down of dusk — over nighttime. He had found a great many pleasures and fun in the elongated shadows as a boy. And he had discovered more of the warm comforts in these hours than adventure as he matured, but night has never been his thing. Particularly. For many years, left wanting of many friends his age, he spent the early nights poking about, discovering the creatures that keep the nocturnal kingdom and watching stars under the tutelage and with the companionship of his mother. Then sleep took him to much greater adventures internal. It has its poetry. That is undeniable. And it has its certain romantic qualities. But unlike his mother who is indiscriminate in her love of all phases and motions — winter as much as summer; night as much as day — Trystane plays his favourites.

He becomes, as a result, rather hopelessly sleepy not too long after the sun sputters out.

Tonight is not terribly different. A grey autumn day, gathering greater and greater momentum into winter, had relented its post to a surprisingly clear and cold nightfall. He stands in the open, muscles shuddering some warmth back into his body, blinking up and through the screen of condensed breath to the still and bright starfield. Standing like this for some time, muttering the odd hello at the nearest of passer-bys or picking at some brittle grass, the young buckskin had begun to drift off now and then on his feet. Eyes blinking closed heavily for a moment or two (or more) before opening lazily to look around and ultimately up again. This cycle afforded him some extra time, and as his eyelids flicked open again he catches her moment. The deadened leaf meeting her lively smile.

He smiles too. There is something about this happy and small meeting of bare nature and horse that loosens something recognizable within him, and he walks towards her with some misbegotten sense of familiarity. “Hello.” He glances up at the wizened oak, the twisted branches and the clinging leaves and into the night sky beyond. They all reminded him of his mother, his childhood spent nowhere. “I'm Trystane.”

He could stay awake for a bit longer, occupying the nightly domain if only to send soft ripples into her quiet freedom, as well as his own. 

first time posting with him ever, and first time posting at all in... I dont even know how long. So, I am rusty as all hell. will get better, unless I in fact can no longer rp ponies. tbd.

[Aeris]

Had she been more aware maybe she would have seen him. Like her, he is quiet. His presence has little effect on their surroundings, again like her. With her eyes staring curiously outward to the autumn scenery she doesn't pay attention to what - or who - is next to her. Long minutes (or has it been hours?) pass and she is peering out as though she isn't in the meadow, like she is watching from a different vantage point in another body. With having adapted to the silence and solitude Cerva is content being on the outskirts - standing on the outside looking in - but there are days when she longs for attention. It has been quite a while since she has last seen her family. They are all becoming mere figments of her memory. On some days she closes her eyes and pictures them all together, but again, she is on the outside looking in, not huddled among them.

Without having realized it Cerva is doing that now. It's so realistic, this image playing on the inside of her eyelids. There's Daemron and Nihlus, mother and father. They are all there turning to look at her and smiling. She grins back at them, but as she lays pause her world tumbles away and her eyes open.

There is a male looking at her. His voice reverberated in her mind, his gentle hello waking her from a sleep she didn't know was happening. "Oh," she whispers in surprise as she meets his eyes. He has already closed the distance between them. The naked branches of the oak are sprawled above both of them now. She can feel her heartbeat thrumming in her throat as she almost takes solace in shifting and hiding. That's all she has ever really done, after all. To avoid conversation with most Cerva would simply alter her body into that of a badger so that she could more easily scamper away and avoid having to pretend being someone she wasn't.

So what holds her so steadily in place now?

This is the meadow, she tells herself. This isn't the Valley and he isn't a familiar. Here, she can be herself. Here, she doesn't have to hide behind a mask.

A smile adorns her pretty face. "Cerva," her voice is sugared and silky, "it's a pleasure to meet you." She means it. This is the first time that she can reach out and be unafraid of rejection. He doesn't have standards for her. This is where she can begin her life truly and stop hiding in the shadows of her parents.

Cerva

well, you're doing a fantabulous job because I think he's adorable <3

[Ganymead]

Ganymead cautiously made his way from the shadows, unaware of what was to be expected in this beautiful land. He took a few steps and took in the sight of horses mingling together and making friends of one another.....not fighting? This was a strange land, not bad strange but strange nonetheless and it would take time to acclamate.Just as he was about to take a few more steps and make his decision about which groups looked like they were ok and which groups he needed to avoid. The sight of her beauty stole his breath and it took him a minute to regain his composure , she stood alone next to an gnarled oak she didn't appear displeased with her solitude but she definitely looked a bit lonely . Ganymead slowly approached her nervous of her reaction towards him, yet hoping for a positive one, as he drew closer to her his nervousness got the best of him perhaps she didn't want a friend, Just as he was going to turn around and return to the shadows of the trees he thought he felt eyes upon him.....Uh oh to late to turn back now. He approached her from the side and with a courage he didn't feel Ganymead said with a smile
"Hello ma'am how are you today, you looked as if you'd enjoy a lil company, Im Ganymead and who might you be?"

[Trystane]

It is steep, it is stone. Such recovery.
From the daily press, the deepest nest, the keeper's keep.

Would that he could have a bigger, closer family to picture. It had been him and his mother, a woman as slight as a field mouse, as without aggression as a doe and as indomitable as a cliff face. She seems made of nature, and in many ways it is obvious he is made of similar stuff. Similar and different. While considerably stronger in build (“like mountains to hillsides, or eagles to waxwings,” as Vineine would put it) he contains her quietude in no small measure. But that had been all. He has a father, to be sure. And he wouldn't know it, but he looks more like him than his mother, at least at first or distant glance. He has a sister, and aunts and an uncle (an overwhelmingly female affair all-round) if he is to believe his mother.

 But his formation had been his mother's own.

And that, to anybody who knew Vineine (which are few) is immediately obvious.  Neither entirely good or bad, it has imbued in him a certain confidence and comfort around mares. (Not necessarily lacking for the former around stallions, it is perhaps more the latter that his feminine upbringing has affected.) The sheltered nature of his boyhood has made him surprisingly unprepared for many social situations. But this? Soft words and stars. This is in him, somewhere inseparable from the other components, and so he shifts his weight easily to rest. He resists the urge to make contact, physical and real — to bridge a distance as unfathomable as two utter strangers. And she is a stranger, to be sure. But there is nothing strange besides.

“I surprised you.” He is not apologetic, he can see where he is welcome just as readily as where he is not. He was not raised an oblivious boy. There is curiosity more than anything in his words. But before he can intrude he is interrupted (perhaps for the better). He looks this man over with tempered interest — what is it he is made of?

They are like some vibrant flame, drawing in from distant darkness moths. “Cerva... And you, of course. A great pleasure.” He clears his throat, “Ganymead. Well met. I am Trystane.” Their din is growing, he feels an unfamiliar pressure. “It is a fine night.” He settles into small talk as comfortably as a man shrugging into shackles.

[Cerva]

It's one thing to have been noticed by anyone, but by two? Cerva's attention lies heavily on Trystane as he mirrors her kindness and speaks in a voice that lulls her into solace. What she feared would be an awkward encounter is quickly (and easily) becoming so much more. The grin that tips up the corners of his mouth are genuine and she can feel his sincerity wrap her in a warm embrace. Temptation brings her a step closer but she stops herself. What could have possibly drawn him to her? She is lackluster in comparison to her siblings and parents and she isn't quite as twisted as one would expect her to be. Maybe it's that she is a black sheep, but there is no way he could know that. It could simply be that he enjoys her company and enjoys her for what she is and not what she pretends to be.

"You did," she admits with a shy tilt of her head, "but not in a bad way." No, not at all. She drinks in the attention like nectar, surprised that she is enjoying it so much. His heart is of gold, his voice honeyed and kind. It's enough to hold her here with her eyes still plastered on him until a different voice breaks the pause. In a single swift motion she turns her attention to the third of their party and offers him an amiable grin though her eyes briefly flicker to Trystane. "Hello, Ganymeade, I'm Cerva." Just Cerva. No title, no extravagance. Nothing.

And somehow, that is oddly relieving.

"Company sounds nice," she has to swallow the lump in her throat to say this because it was one thing to have just Trystane, but now the couple has become a trio. Conversation with strangers isn't her forte but she tries to hold steady and mask herself in sheer comfort. This is an opportunity to become who - or what - she wants; she can't let it slip through her fingers. Cerva realizes that it isn't in her near future to be a sociable creature, but she is at least trying in this moment. They are both kind, at least. Her reassurances soothe her, croon to her, and eat away the discomfort that was beginning to crawl up her neck. "A fine night indeed, although a little chilly." Her breath is a white plume coiling in front of her. There is beauty in the cold, but there is also an ugliness. Her plants, her precious poison, lies dormant for these next few months. The vibrant greens and reds are faded to browns and grays, grotesque and dormant. By now she should be used to it and yet she can't help but always dread the winter. "So where are you both from?" Feeding off Trystane she offers her own question to the small talk among them.

Cerva

[Trystane]

It is steep, it is stone. Such recovery.
From the daily press, the deepest nest, the keeper's keep.

Ganymead, having exchanged pleasantries with them, perhaps having grown sleepy or having caught whiff of something in their exchange of comfortable glances, said his goodbyes and transitioned into the night. Another acquaintance cut loose to the wilds, another familiar face.

He could never be anything but himself — observant and curious; earthy and levelheaded — he doesn't have the motivation in him, he has never had to try. Not thus far. Not here, certainly. If he knew she felt so compelled to disguise herself in her daily life, he might reach out and reassure her of her wonder. Even the small bit he's exposed in their yet brief meeting. Would she need it? In his experience (limited though it may be) others are often stronger in themselves than they think — so long as they know themselves. So long as their content is true.

She is true. She is probably strong, too.

He catches the tail of a moving star, running across the dark umbrella of night sky. It blazes a thin trail, like spider's web. And then it burns out. Gone. He snorts, looking back at her through the fog of mixed breath. “I'm glad,” he says smoothly, softly without noticing — maybe a impulse of his, to leave everything in peace under the cover of dark. “I was watching the stars you see..” he lets out a singular chuckle, it belies a boyish doubt. Does she really want to hear all this? “Well. And then I saw you. And you seemed peaceful, but then, so was I and.. well, we could be in peace with each other.” His grin is cocked, easy having finally expressed himself to her.

He shakes his mane out, stretching some blood flow through his chilled body, “Anyway, I'm not so sure I'm from anywhere, you know.” Surely everyone is from somewhere? There is no nowhere. Everywhere is somewhere. But everything free of borders and hierarchy is muddled, freely bleeding together. Nowhere, perhaps, is just the best name they have for it. “The wilderness? Maybe not so terribly far from the Gates, but I guess I never really asked.” It never seemed important, though he always fought with the impulse to check out his mother's old home.

The muscles of his shoulder shudders against the cold, seizing up and shaking. His body trying for heat within its own cellular makeup. “And you? Are you from somewhere?”

I ended up getting a bit antsy and contacted NoMercy to make sure she remembered us haha she said to go on without Ganymead. I didn't want to just pretend he was never here, since it was kind of somewhat important to your last post that BOTH of them had approached her so. Yeah. That was best I could come up with. <3

[Cerva]

He's a fleeting face, smiling at her and offering her kind words before he disappeared into the wintry fog. A fading smile trembles on her lips as she sees him fade into the darkness, leaving her alone with Trystane as it originally was. "He was kind," she mutters under her breath when she can no longer see him. Maybe one day their paths will cross again but for now she is able to more happily focus on only one other. The tension in her melts away at having less of a social encounter. Cerva simply isn't ready to confront more than one at a given time. Her heart is still recovering, still fluttering in her chest when her dark eyes drift back to Trystane. His voice is gentle, caressing her as he speaks of the stars after they together watch one shoot across the velvet black sky. The corners of her mouth lift in a delicate smile. "That sounds lovely," to be peaceful and at ease is all she could ever want at this point in time. He can provide that simply by being himself, lulling her into a state tranquility that she has never before experienced.

Whispered footsteps bring her closer to Trystane until their sides are just a hairbreadths away. She can feel his body heat reach out for her and cradle her skin tenderly. By watching him she notices how he tries to move parts, like reaching out his neck, to elicit more heat during this cold winter eve. They could press against each other, but that would be too forward. For someone who feels so new to conversation Cerva has already reached too far out by bringing herself so near to him. The temptation, however, couldn't be ignored.

Their closeness makes the conversation more real, more intimate, as he admits the inconclusive place from where he is from. Cerva listens attentively with an occasional nod of her head. "The wilderness sounds exhilarating, honestly. No worries, no expectations of you," her voice trails off as she glances away thoughtfully. Her family springs to mind, their faces surfacing after having been suppressed for weeks - maybe months - and she shudders to think how she is not living up to their par. "The Valley," she replies as a second thought after having hesitated after his question. A deep breath is drawn into her lungs before meeting Trystane's eyes. "I was born in the Valley. I'm one of three children between my parents. Somehow, my mother conceived triplets." She excludes that her father was the King, that her mother is spring, that she was borne into a powerful family. All of that escapes her in this moment, but she does admit one thing: "I just needed to get away from there."

She didn't belong, but how is she to tell Trystane that?

Cerva

[Trystane]

He knows peace intimately. Perhaps, too intimately. Lacking in adventure, heartache and dramatics (good and bad), he lives in constant companionship with even-tempered waves. Some might believe this to be a life worth living, untouched — not perfect (nothing is in nature), but at its worst, quiet tedium. And that is not so bad. It is an ideal, one of a multitude. But he yearns often for something impressive and extreme. For great emotions stirred within, for an opportunity to release it like a breath. Joining the atmosphere: nitrogen, oxygen, the gaseous compound of whispers and evaporated tears. *****He desires something. Something. A wild storm, a whole and uninhibited experience. His heart jitters in his chest, and cold draws him nearer still. He sways a bit on his feet and their heat pulls them together like opposite magnets. The negligible brush of skin evokes an immense, primordial ache. But he too resists indulging it further. They are not untethered spirits, neither of them. They are kept still and anxious, compelled not only by nature (the nature that wills them into a unity, drives for it always as a rule), but by society (willing them otherwise, expecting from them courteous restraint). But prying eyes are few, those that are left are huddled in hushed summit. They are obscured by darkness, but moonlight falls silvery and bright, negating much of that welcome disguise. So he toys with the idea, to nudge her and explain a star formation he had kept his eyes on since boyhood. Any excuse. *****He is not smooth enough. Not learned enough. He is a botanist and a zoologist, an eager consumer of detail, but he is not a seasoned companion. He can tell by her own unsure energy that she isn't either, and he can't help but let out a small and awkward chuckle. Something, stitching them together with understanding. It's a good enough start. “I suppose so. It's made me the man I am. But I guess that's probably the same for everyone.” He shifts, wondering how he can explain it to her, “I am wild, in my core,” He tilts his head, he does not mean rabble-rousing, but he suspects somehow he will understand him perfectly, “Nature it stronger than anything. It's in us all. I imagine the gulf between us is not so great. Nothing really, at all.” He clears his throat, babbling his own curiosities to the zeitgeist. A nervous tic of his. His brows furrow together, and he wonders on her final line. I just needed to get away from there. He could have missed it, everyone needs to flee every once and a while. But it is not imperceptible. It is there, maybe restless to be addressed, but that would be a bold assumption. She is opening, and he is curling in on himself. His dark lips part, mouthing words silently. *****“Triplets,” He laughs airily, “Sounds rough. Are you... close with your siblings?” He is eyeing her, and then the starfield, with casual shifts. “I have a half-sister, but, we aren't so close. Actually, we are strangers, really. Viera...” Trystane. It is steep, it is stone. Such recovery. From the daily press, the deepest nest, the keeper's keep.

[Cerva]

They are so close, only a hairbreadths away and yet neither of them break the barrier. They stare up at the starry sky in silence as their hearts patter in their chests. Neither of them know what is must customary in social situations; their struggles are evident by the way they stand and stare off waiting for something to trigger more conversation. Cerva is searching her mind frantically because she doesn't want him to leave. He has no expectations of her, no stereotype. Their conversation is calming and it takes her mind away from everything she is running from. No, she doesn't want him to leave.

His light-hearted chuckle spreads warmth through her. A smile lifts the corners of her mouth and her racing heart suddenly calms. "A wild man of the brush, huh?" Her own sweet laughter rings but a pleased hum quiets her down although her eyes never lose their excited gleam. "So what made you want to step out of your comfort zone to come here?" Was he just as lonely and curious as she? Or maybe he is trying to make an upward change in his life while she reels backward from hers. Curious, she looks away from the star-studded sky to search his eyes. They just barely catch the faint moonlight of nightfall as they level on her. He mulls over the idea of triplets and Cerva anxiously rolls her shoulders. Part of her regrets delving into her family because then the truth will surface, but it's too late now.

After a moment of consideration she says, "Sort of." A hesitation follows as she reflects back on Daemron and Nihlus and how their faces are beginning to flicker away. "I love them, but I haven't seen them in a long time." In reality, she hasn't seen any of her family lately. Father resigned the throne in the Valley and mother vanished. Her siblings have taken their own routes in life. Everyone went in separate directions but she hasn't tried to find them either. They're quickly becoming memories as much as she may dislike the prospect of it. Life happens, she has told herself before, but it doesn't mend the holes that she feels in her heart when her brothers are nowhere to be found.

"That's a shame," her voice is honeyed as she withdraws from her tugging thoughts of her family to focus on his. It isn't quite as joyful, however, but there's perhaps a glimmer of hope in it. "You should find her and get to know her better. She's family," Cerva should take her own advice, but she spent an entire childhood with her parents and brothers. It was when they became adults that the glue among them withered away.

Cerva