"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
The sounds of water were fading into the background to be replaced gradually with low murmurs from grouped horses and the unhurried thud of hoof fall. Terne moved at a measured pace through dense tooth trimmed grass each mottled grey leg working in tandem with the other while she kept to herself. No one glanced up as she passed. No one called out. In a world of peacocks she was a peahen. The moon was already high in the sky, savoring a few stolen moments with the brilliant sun before they were to be parted once more.
I wish my life was as vibrant as a sky during these exchanges
Terne’s life to this point was a dud. It was never meant to become so stagnant, but somehow over time strong pulses of vigor had, without obvious intent or courtesy of warning slowed. Weakened to a feeble flow of energy through what was now an resemblance of a life. None of it had happened over night. It didn’t even happen as quickly as a day to day transformation. Bits of vitality were lost here. A piece there.
I must make a change. I do not wish to be a specter made flesh.
Dull brown eyes looked left and right and forward and behind. The only way anything would ever change was to break out of the monotony of routine. One sharp turn and the mare headed in a new direction, west. She would head towards the river land and maybe she wouldn’t stop there. Maybe she would travel everywhere to see what she had not before.
Despite the brilliant summer sunlight, the air that streams past Pteron’s blue nose is bitterly cold. He flies ever higher, pushing himself until the shadows begun to seep into the edges of his vision.
He could go higher, Pteron knows, so high that the shadows would take him entirely. In dark unconscious he’d fall through the air and wake – covered in blood and perfectly whole. It’s painless, but it is also not especially enjoyable. Certainly not as enjoyable as the dive he’s about to do, anyway. The dun colt halts his ascension with a simple shift of his wings, then points his front hooves toward the distant green earth. As quickly as he can, Pteron points his head forward and folds his wings back.
Hurtling toward the distant earth as fast as he is able, the piebald two-year-old feels the rush of adrenaline through his veins and each thunderous beat of his own heart. This is one of his favorite past times, and when he finally pulls up (at the very last possible moment) and drifts to a stop on the green hills he is all but laughing with joy. Taking several deep breaths, the young stallion tosses his mane away from his face and slowly folds in the hard-silk edges of his pale wings.
Only then does he look around, and just so happens to see a dappled grey mare moving past.
“Hey!” he calls out, emboldened by the surge of epinephrine that still floods through him. Pteron isn’t quite sure where she’s going, but she’s in the Field, and that usually means that conversation will be tolerated from strangers. She’s heading toward the Riverlands, he sees, but perhaps might be willing to stop and chat a bit.
The twins were a handful, they may not be hellhounds like her first born but they were just as wild if not more. They were nearly 6 months now and more than capable of being alone in the safety of Sylva, and that is exactly where they were.
Mary was not one to be confined to her home for months on end, and though she loved each of her children she sacrificed more than they know. Today as she left the twins in the safety of Sylva she ventures out of her home. The field was always promising to pick up a recruit, or at the least a good conversation.
As she made her way to the field she actively looks for the next tree to provide her protection from the suns harsh heat. Even with her dappled pelt, it clashed with the suns heat.
She eventually makes it to the field that was rather quiet. She did not go all this way for nothing though, she moves deeper into the heart of the field. As she does the sound of others pass her ears and she quickly makes her way towards the source.
When she finds the pair, remaining a distance away, she sees Pteron. The young Bane boy that she remembers meeting....just before the family disappeared. She wonders why Pteron stayed, why didn't he leave with Lepis and Bane? All the more reason to approach the pair.
Her own thoughts on Pteron nearly left her blinded to the girl that was with him, but as she grows closer she confirms that she holds no kingdoms scent. Hello! Hope I'm not interrupting. The dapple queen gives a greeting, her eyes shift to the boy Pteron, she gives a casual nod in greeting. Her gaze now shifts to the girl and who are you? she inquires to the nomad.
“Hey!” Jolted from her sluggish melancholy thoughts by a shouted greeting Terne misses a beat and stumbles slightly. Lacking grace her dark legs keep her standing, but her journey is halted. A few paces away stands a young male. His wings are tucked against his body and even from a distance he radiates vitality. Wide brown eyes dart to the ground.
Who is this stranger and am I really the one he means to speak with?
Terne opens her mouth, now dry, to respond but before she can give the polite greeting to her new companion another approaches. Her mouth snaps shut with a clack of teeth. While the mares share a similar patterning, the similarities end quickly as the newest arrival has a bearing of confidence and command. Seeing her nod to the male it seems as if there is a familiarity. “Who are you?”
I can’t recall a conversation I’ve had with another in a long time and now I am to speak with two.
Mouth still dry, and throat unaccustomed to speech the mare’s voice comes out quietly and with texture. Like leaves grinding into stone then floating away.
I’m… Terne.
One unsure half step shifting her body back. Eyes trace a slow but wary pattern. Mare. Ground. Colt. Mare. Ground. Colt.
It’s clear that he’d startled the grey mare, and Pteron’s bright smile quickly turns to surprise, and then to a frown of apologetic concern. By he time he’s frowned she’s already briefly met his gaze only to look back at the ground. Pteron isn’t certain how to respond, but he Is saved from needing to by the arrival of a second dappled mare. This one had been greener the last time they’d met, he thinks, but it is not possible to forget Mary.
Pteron smiles, his concerned frown replaced by a well-mannered nod of his head as she greets them. She is as polite as he remembers (though his memories of the luminary are those of a child, blurred and faint), and while Pteron is respectful of her high position he is not quite deferential. She is not his queen, after all, and when they had last met his own rank had been higher than her own. There is a reason he is still a diplomat in training, it seems; he’s only a boy.
He’s astute enough to see that Mary’s arrival hasn’t eased the other mare in the same way it has himself, and he finds himself mirroring Terne, shifting back to create at least a little more space between them. It’s not a retreat, more of a resettling of his weight into a more relaxed posture. It’s something he’s seen his parents do when meeting someone new. He mimics it as best he can, attempting to emulate the softening of tension that he has seen on several occasions.
‘Most of a conversation isn’t spoken aloud’. He remembers that lesson well. Still, some of it has to be, and it would be rude to not reply to Mary, especially since she’s given an unnecessary apology. “You’re not interrupting at all. I’ve just landed and, I think, startled Terne here.” He glances at the mare, hoping to catch her eye when he says:“I’m sorry about that, by the way.”
Though Mary has already said his name, it was more of a greeting than an introduction, and he falls silent after adding: “I’m Pteron, of Loess.”
Mary has always been a bold mare, and it seems that the opposing mare was a bit more timid. She notes it, and does her best to carry a more gentle tone in the conversation.
The mare introduces herself as Terne, Mary nods her head in acknowledgment. Terne, she says allowing the name to familiarize on her tongue. My name is Mary she introduces herself.
Her head turns to Pteron, as he speaks. He notes she had not interrupted anything and she simply nods her head in response. Pteron gives an official introduction for himself, and Mary finds it quite interesting that the once prince still lives in Loess, without his family.
She slowly turns her head back to the dappled mare, Have you a home? Or just arrived to beqanna? Mary asks out of courtesy, though she can already tell the mare is a nomad for she carries no kingdom scent.
One deep breath in. One out. Each breath taken deliberately one at a time. Each calming draft brings with it the scents of the surrounding area. Lightly sweet, warm grass tingles at the edge of Terne’s nostrils. From Pteron a musk enhanced from the exertion yet dulled from the breeze of flight. Mary had a lighter scent and yet it held a similarity to Pteron’s. However, what the shared trait was escaped Terne’s ability to identify it.
I was going to…
Before she can finish her sentence Terne realizes that she doesn’t know where she had been about to tell them. Sure, she had been headed directly to the river and then forward from there, but the eventual goal was some place beyond where she had imagined. The boundaries of her planning didn’t extend past arrival at the river.
…the river. I don’t have a home. Maybe this place is?
There is confusion in her creaky tree branch voice. She lifts her head skyward, eyes catching still bright rays of a slowly sinking sun. In the distance a flock startles en masse into the sky. The swarm swerves and swirls with no predetermined choreography. Their movements are shaped organically in real time.
04-24-2019, 06:50 AM (This post was last modified: 05-18-2019, 07:45 AM by Pteron.
Edit Reason: spelling!
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The colt’s ears flick toward the dappled mare as she speaks. When she trails off before revealing her destination, Pteron frowns ever so slightly. He is not sure how to read this wary-eyed creature. His bold personality comes with a healthy dose of self-confidence and while he has met a rainbow of personalities in his (short) lifetime, there had been none quite like her. Everyone he had met had a home, after all. They knew where they fit in Beqanna.
Perhaps that is what intrigues him, he thinks; she is something entirely new.
It was Mary’s question that tipped him off. He knew they were in the Feild, knew that horses who come here do so to find new homes, knew that some of those searchers were even from outside Beqanna. Pteron has never before been outside Beqanna, and he wonders if perhaps everyone there is as flighty at Terne.
“I spose you could live here,” he tells her. “It’s full of comings and goings; always new people to talk to. Less so with the Plague, or at least that’s what my Father says. The River is nice too; maybe less busy.” The pied colt glances toward Mary, brow raised as if he waits for confirmation of these facts. Then back again to Terne, who is watching a flock of birds scatter against the fiery sky.
“You could live in Loess, too.” Pteron adds. “Or come visit, anyway. We’ve got lots of neat birds and red hills that go on forever.” These are the best aspects of Loess to a young boy, of course: opportunities for exploration and adventure.
