"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
Her eyes slowly opened, the sun shone brightly down upon her. She felt tired, she didn't want to wake but her stomach churned and growled at her. She slowly rose upwards, her wings slowly outstretching many feet beyond her body. She glanced to her left, then to her right, she wasn't alone but wasn't sure if she was willing to engage into conversation with another being.
She began a slow and almost lifeless trot towards the large green field, her stomach was still growling at her. She needed to eat, she had very little energy. As she reached the outskirts of the field she slowed down to a walk and dropped her head to begin feeding on the sweet green blades below her hooves.
It feels good to find some thread of normality in the everyday routine.
It feels good to remind himself that, underneath the chaos of the plague, there is still a life to be lived. Tephra remains strong. Beqanna remains busy. There are still souls out there who need homes—who long for purpose or stability or just a change. So Magnus smiles when he wakes with the rising sun, when he shakes the dust from his crushed gold coat and turns to the border, rocketing forward across the lands.
He finds what has become his new path, the territories bleeding away beneath his surging gait, his war-scarred body covering ground quickly. It is a longer distance to travel than before, but he has long since memorized the quickest path to the field, cutting through the kingdoms, skirting along the borders, and then charging across the common lands, eating up the land with his stride, his hoofbeats thundering.
When he finally reaches the field, he is damp and dusk, the thin skin around his nostrils soaked as the delicate skin flares. But it is the eyes that show the joy of the run, the gold-flecked depths bright and charged, flaring to life as he looks around the field, watching as the alabaster mare feeds on the outskirts.
He doesn’t waste time in making his way to her, but neither does he charge up to her.
He walks slow and steadily, arching around her so that she can see him, hear him, approaching. When he gets close enough, he stops, dropping his head into a greeting. “Hello there,” his whiskey voice is smooth and unaffected by the run, the stallion having caught his breath. “My name is Magnus.” He considers asking more, but he decides to leave it—let her point the conversation in whichever direction she’d like.
01-03-2019, 01:35 AM (This post was last modified: 01-03-2019, 02:22 PM by Lunabelle.)
She tears at the blades of dewy grass, chewing quietly she has many thoughts cross her mind. She never had the best up bringing, she was cast aside by her mother as a little filly and never knew her father. But this was alright, this didn't affect her too much, it never changed her current frame of mind when it crossed her mind.
As she continues to nibble at the grass she spots out of the corner of her eyes another horse nearing her slowly and considerately. She makes out like she hasn't yet noticed him impending upon her presence. His stride is confident, his appearance is strong. His coat is like a ray of sunshine with many battle scars.
He is now close enough to strike up a conversation with her, as he drops his head her eyes dart up to his. His voice is masculine, his words roll off his tongue and into her labyrinth. She is now nervous, she doesn't want to come off as needy.
"Hello, I am Lunabelle but please call me Belle."
Yes, keep it short and sweet. She wasn't really one to strike up a conversation but who was she to avert good looking company.
although this world is made of fearsome beasts that bark and bite we were born to put these creatures through one hell of a fight
In a lot of ways, coming to the field is a like a dance—one that Magnus has long ago memorized.
He knows the way you dip and the way you twirl. It’s a courtship, a greeting, and everything in between. He enjoys the grace of it, the ease of it, and the rhythms that are new with each passing day. He finds the conversation relaxing, and his handsome face shows just how at ease he is, his scarred lips spread wide, one corner lifting higher than the other as his gold-flecked eyes glint out from beneath his inky forelock.
“Belle it is then,” his whiskey-voice lingers on the syllable, letting it draw out on his tongue, enjoying the simplicity of it. There is something about her that feels of another world, a texture different than Beqanna’s own, and he wonders if she was one of those rare souls who was not born and raised here.
He cannot help but hunger for stories, for news, for the world beyond.
But he doesn’t ask, doesn’t push demands on her when he isn’t even sure why she’s here. Instead he just considers her with a tilt of his head, that roguish smile never leaving his lips, something like a secret in the undercurrent of his eyes. “What brings you to the field today?” Such a normal question—obvious, even—but he can’t help himself. He loves hearing what everyone has to say, and he’s in no rush.
At some point, she has begun to come to the realization that in the future, at some time she can’t predict, most of those living in her new home will leave. They’ll return to their actual homes – to Loess, to Sylva, to other lands not as safe as her own. It drives her to wander away from the Pampas, and into the world outside. She doesn’t relish the travel, especially through the common lands.
They were her childhood home, after all, and she can see glimpses of her father behind every tree – in shadows and in streams of light. It simply reminds her that he’s gone.
The field is more comfortable – it’s not a place Rhonen and Noah had spent much time, so it is less like a bad dream and more like an adventure. She keeps her wings tucked securely against her slender form and moves through the trees of the forest and out into the Field, eyes scanning those gathered. Winter wind bites into her neck and legs and face, though her feathered appendages protect the bulk of her body.
She lets her subconscious pick, and is drawn to the pale mare and the golden stallion. She offers a hesitant smile in greeting, and a nod, and stations herself where she can see both of them. “Hello,” she nearly whispers it, though she’s doing her best to speak at a louder volume (strangely loud, to her). “I’m Noah.” Her dark gaze flits from face to face – she knows nothing about the rest of Beqanna, really, but he knows of the field and so he must be a native, or a least a resident.
01-14-2019, 10:59 AM (This post was last modified: 01-14-2019, 11:03 AM by Lunabelle.)
Her long crisp white mane hangs lowly, her violet eyes dance upon his coat, inspecting each one of his scars. She craved to know the stories behind them; she loved feeling his presence. He was confident, she could tell just by the way he held himself.
He is handsome.
She doesn't care to query him about his past though, she has only just met him. Her long wings spread out and she shakes her body, her beautiful well conformed body stands out among the treelines.
His words roll off his tongue so smoothly, she bats her eyes at him - a bit in awe of him."I'm actually not quite sure", she almost stutters the words as they leave her mouth "I guess I just didn't want to be lonely." A common feeling to her, she had been alone just about her whole life. So common that she was well acquainted with the feeling.
While conversing with the stallion that shines like the sun while being hidden by the shadows she notices a speckled mare edge slowly towards them. She doesn't take much notice of her at first until she softly speaks, Lunabelle nods her head in a gesture for her to come closer.
The speckled mare speaks her name, pretty she thinks."It is nice to make your acquaintance Noah, I am Lunabelle but please call me Belle."Lunabelles voice is soft like velvet, her violet eyes dash between the two creatures standing in front of her. Could she be making friends after all these years of loneliness?
although this world is made of fearsome beasts that bark and bite we were born to put these creatures through one hell of a fight
She is a moon flower, and his hold on her is tender, gentle. He doesn’t crush her between his palms but does his best to shield her from the battering winds of the outside world, a surge of protectiveness rising in his chest at her admission that she doesn’t want to feel lonely. Something like a shadow passes through his gold-flecked eyes, his scarred mouth somber. “I’ve done a lot to not feel lonely,” he confesses, his voice steady but quiet, pressing the secret to her. “I would very much like to help you.”
But his attention is diverted when the other mare arrives.
She has the distinct scent of a native Beqannian, and holds herself like one, even if there is something almost timid about her expression. “Hello, Noah,” he says, his ashen voice still quiet, as worried that anything too loud may startle or bruise either of them. His attention returns back to Lunabelle and he studies her for a moment, a breath of time, before he picks up the thread of conversation again.
“Belle, would you like to hear about some of the homes available to you? I come from Tephra, a kingdom not terribly far from here. I would love to tell you more about it, if you wanted to know.” He inclines his head to Noah. “I am sure that Noah has another home that she would love to tell you about, as well.”
Another pause, that same familiar heartbeat of protectiveness.
“And I would be happy to tell you about some of the other lands in Beqanna should you want to know more about them. I can even take you to them if you prefer to see them in person.”
It wasn’t the first time he had made the offer, and it wouldn’t be the last. While he always hoped that they would choose Tephra, that they would love Tephra as he does, he knew it wasn’t for everyone—and if he could help them find a home, regardless of where it was, then it would be a good day indeed.
The white mare introduces herself, and even that is routine and calming. Noah tucks away the information for later, breathing for now even regulated. It wouldn’t do, after all, for her breathing to be louder than her voice. The stallion is equally nonthreatening, though her is certainly an impressive physical specimen. He must be making an effort to be so nonthreatening, and Noah quietly appreciates it. She’s sure he could be the opposite, if her wanted to. He continues speaking and identifies himself as being from Tephra. Noah thinks back to the brief wanderings of her childhood and gets the vague idea that maybe Tephra was salty, and had a volcano.
He looks her way, pauses and gives her an opening; she puts words into the quiet as expected. “I’m from a new place called the Brilliant Pampas. I can tell you about it if you’d like,” she hears out the rest of what he has said and ducks her head, in part admiring that he is willing to take a complete strange adventuring and in part wondering if she should be as brave. Perhaps this is why he serves a Kingdom – more than serves, she’s guessing, but she couldn’t say why – and she only has taken possession of the smallest of places, hoping to build a herd.
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