[open] hope brings her back

[Rezza]

appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.

She knows nothing of gods, for they did not have them, nor anything akin to them. She knows of magic, but not in the way they do here, for they did not have that either. Baltians had their own magic, but whatever they were born with was all their was. The land was not magical. There was no reservoir. At least, not in her lifetime, which was undeniably rather long. She has seen a lot in her many years and yet, she has seen nothing quite like what had happened to them after the earthquake. She has seen nothing quite like Beqanna.

The one who finds her today is young. So many of them are so young, and even the oldest that she has met hadn’t seemed very old at all. Do they not live long lives here? Do they not even live full lives? She hasn’t asked the question, though she’s seen no evidence to suggest that they do. Still, just because she hasn’t seen it yet, doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Maybe it’s only the young ones brave or fool enough to talk to her. Bravery and foolishness, like blessings and curses, are just two sides of the same coin.

This one is not like the others. He stands staring, and she lets him, entirely aware of the guarded expression in his eyes. She, on the other hand, appears very relaxed about the whole situation, not particularly bothered that he’s staring (she has been stared at enough in her life that it has long since stopped bothering her) or that’s he’s guarded (smart boy). Besides, it gives her time to look back, noting the lighting that flickers across his skin, and when he speaks, the thunder in his voice. They were interesting, these Beqannaians. What else could he do? What exactly was he?

She offers him a polite nod and a small smile as he speaks, accepting the apology and simultaneously telling him it did not bother her without ever saying a word. His excuse brings a slight chuckle out of her though. She cannot help herself, though it’s not a meanspiried laugh at all, simply amused. “I can help you work on those excuses of yours, if you ever want,” she offers, and the offer sounds strangely genuine. She might not belong here, but she has learned now at least what the common lands of Beqanna are, and there are decidedly others around. The forest is different from the meadow or the river though. Here she cannot necessarily hear other equines, but she can feel their minds all the same. “I’m Rezza,” she offers, something of an olive branch. He can take it or leave it.

REZZA

Photo by Alice Alinari

@Tumult