"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
Amber eyes peek through the undergrowth, leaves rustle where a light-grey body passes through. Her wings and mane raven-black, the young adult mare moves with more grace than befits her age, but she doesn’t necessarily hide. Sure, she peeks - she knows what you’re all doing this season. Wonders if her dad is making her a million siblings yet - probably - and if her mother finally got over her personal dramas. She had not wanted Llowell, but that doesn’t mean she can’t get over it. In the back of her mind, she wonders if uncle Svedka ever showed up in the Cove, though she thinks probably not. Too bad. Mom could have used some of his… influences.
She stifles a small laugh, and her bright eyes close a moment. When she reopens them, she has left the forest, and makes it into the field.
With all these hormones raging, a lean girl might get some attention, she thinks - hopes, because she needs more than staying at home, more than roaming, and more than whatever the heck all these mares are doing that will get them only more and more babies.
Oh, she knows. She just thinks them stupid for giving in mid-season. Babies are a nuisance. Tähti is just looking for some fun, herself.
the light you are searching has always been within
Silver-white eyes are watching from the thickness of his tangled black mane. Rarely had he ever thought to return to the field ever since he had been found by Nayl but now Castile rules Loess and they needed numbers to grow. The dragon was not required to do much but he felt the need to move and to find fresh blood to fill the new generations of his home. They all needed fresh bodies and clear minds untainted by history and lore.
The gold of autumn sun glinted against the gunmetal blue of his skin with malicious intentions but the man tolerates it with squinting eyes. Across the field are a few horses lingering, some hopeful and others shy, but the pale eyes fall onto a shaow mare with a smirk. She was dangerously alone and even Lior is not immune to the pheromones that float cross the cool air. He grunts softly, nostrils wide and scenting, as the heavy hooves draw him towards her with eyes trained.
"Mare-child, it is not safe for you here." The older man grunts between sharp teeth as he nears her smaller form. A single silver eye floats against the darkness of his looming form as he eyes her cautiously, careful of magic she could possess. He settles near her; filtering her scent, his form larger and protective naturally as he has already claimed her with his actions. A small curl of smoke is observed as he exhales. He does not liek the field and wants to avoid confrontation from any lusty men who should seek to ravage the younger mare or attempt to get between her and himself.
Lior does not offer his name nor any other guidance as his voice is like gravel grinding under hoof . His body remains tense and rigid with the occasional snap of his long tail at flies that attempt to rest on his skin though. He is ready to nip at the curve of her hip and drive her home to Loess should she prove to difficult though he will entertain small conversation if it meant a more peaceful resolution to the already decided fate of the smoke and mist youth.
Magnus hates the field this time of year. He hates the fear that he sees in the mare’s eyes—that distrust that boils in their veins, not without reason. Perhaps that is why he feels more obligated than ever to come here, his features stormy as he watches the interactions, something like a weight settling across his shoulders. When he watches the young mare move into the field, lean and strong, his gaze stays there.
There is something about her that is graceful, but in a way made for battle, something that screams of prowess. It catches his attention although he doesn’t move toward her immediately. It is only when the black stallion approaches, something of aggression in his stance that Magnus moves from where he had been resting against a tree. He is not far away and it doesn’t take him long to close the gap.
He approaches in time to hear Lior’s warning and he cuts his gaze toward the draconic stallion, a tight smile curling the edges of his crooked smile. “It is safe enough,” is all he says, his whiskey-voice husky. Magnus had never been one to appreciate the forceful ways someone exhibited in the field. This was meant to be a place of options—a place of possibility—not a place to be claimed like an item.
Still, muscles tense beneath his war-scarred coat, he turns his attention back to the girl in question.
“My name is Magnus,” he offers, one ear angled toward Lior, constantly keeping tabs on him. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” his eyes warm slightly as he studies her face and then cool as he slides his gaze over to the dragon. “Both of you.” Perhaps a warning, perhaps just a greeting.
Either way, Magnus settles, making it clear he had no intention of leaving anytime soon.
MAGNUS | I don't belong to anyone, but everybody knows my name
He probably doesn’t know how much his comment is true; and how much his second comment is the stupidest he could make - not the words per say, but the threat he seems to make. She flashes him an amused grin, as if the man who smells of smoke, has just made a light joke. He had, in a sense: nothing was ever so dangerous to her, that she would avoid it. Oh, how deceiving are her looks once again.
Mare-child. A mare, five or so years old by now, yet trapped in the body of a two (three? She’s already losing count) year old girl. A chip off the old block, if you will, but what would he know.
She eyes him. He thinks himself pretty important, and pretty powerful too. So does the other, though more on the pretense of being the good guy. She can admire him for it, and she might have in any other situation - if she had felt she ever needed rescuing.
But for now, she ignores the (overly) gallant buckskin man, and focuses on the dragon. He would imply he is one of the dangerous things if she wouldn’t comply, but the mare in a filly’s body couldn’t care less about dangerous things. Not with her abilities - if anything, it is surely annoying, but the fun part where she is nearly unrecognizable, where there is such a distinction between a raven-black filly and a light grey mare, counter some of that - it is annoying to die and become a baby again, but not something she would avoid at any cost. ”Oh, I know, trust me. Hey, do tell. Have you ever died before?” she asks him sweetly. Nevermind introductions, he hadn’t bothered too much himself anyway.
An amused sparkle follows when she briefly eyes the guy called Magnus. Such a big good guy to the rescue - and dead serious about it by the looks of it. But she’s not sure she needs rescuing, easing into a waiting stance to hear the first guy’s answer. The buckskin has scars in odd places, so perhaps… well. She might find out later. Still, her amused look turns slightly serious as she answers him. ”Tähti.”Tehh-tee, she says. ”And I wonder if it is.” Looking from one male to the other, she doesn’t think either one appreciates the presence of the other.
The girl however, is just curious.
Who will stop barking and start biting, first?
the light you are searching has always been within
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