Ramiel is a man grown, now, but sometimes he doesn’t feel so old.
He remembers his childhood so vividly because it is only so recently behind him. He remembers the cold reassurance of his mother’s shoulder as he leaned against her metal side at night. She loved him with the warmth of the summer sun, in stark contrast the way she physically felt. He remembers his father, too. Tiphon had been absent for most of those formative days (and Ramiel still doesn’t understand why his mother had resented him for it – love and its trappings are still concepts that seem just out of reach) but he tries to forget that part. He tries to remember the reunion: the Day the King Came Home. He had first taught his boy what it meant to be a good man. Later, he had taught him what it meant to be a good king in his stoic, strong way.
He’d had a good upbringing compared to others, he knows, and he’s glad for it.
The young grey owes his family everything. And because his family extends beyond shared blood, (to Elysteria and Weir and the others) he means to hold up his end of the bargain by providing for all of them. Today, he moves towards the Field with moderate urgency. Fall is already upon them, the world a shifting kaleidoscope of oranges, reds, and yellows. All too soon, winter will blanket Beqanna. Before it becomes so bitterly cold and the snows fill in the various dips and shallows of the mountainous kingdom, he means to draw in those without a home. Surely there are stragglers existing in the fringe places. They will need the comfort and strength of a larger group – the Dale will provide anything they need in the harsher months: companionship, shelter, and food.
He is only halfway visible, wearing his ghost form as he is accustomed to. It’s the only way he is fully able to use his new talents. And if the need arises to defend himself, he means to be ready. The sunlight filters through the trees, through him and reaches the ground below. It highlights the leaf-litter at his feet, gilding his pathway through the edge of the forest. The field opens in front of him, all tall, dried grass and exposed sky. Horses move slowly through the scene. It’s obvious some are completely lost. Some look wounded, beaten down by life thus far and in waiting for the next round. Still others greet the recruiters with bounding approaches and eager eyes – the ones who know what they want. He’s been here often enough to recognize the different looks. Today, though, he’s not sure which of them he wants to help.
Ramiel moves towards the edge of the field, uninspired by the lot he’s seen. There’s a small river over here, he knows. Not many visit this wilder part of the land. He thinks he’ll settle there for a while until the Field resets itself with a new crop of faces – the turnover was incredibly high here, after all. But the sight of a horse lingering at the banks catches his attention. She’s watching the water go by, the dazzling play of light on its surface, with her back towards him. “Hello, I don’t want to startle you.” The grey stallion moves to stand next to her with some respectable distance between them. He’s young, but he’s learned that most mares appreciate the separation, the consideration for their unfortunate fears. Her eyes look troubled, and his customary smile fades a little because of it. “Are you okay?”
r a m i e l
what a day to begin again