11-03-2015, 01:10 PM
“Hello!” The voice calls from his left, and he turns, finally sure it is meant for him. A young girl with an already impressive set of horns walks strangely in the snow. It’s clear from the way she moves that she isn’t used to the powdery precipitation. Given her age, it’s not entirely surprising. Ramiel wonders, too, if this is her first trip to the meadow. He’ll always remember his fondly – how Josc had felled a tree without hesitation, how strange that mare with her stick-friend had been, how Ea had looked upon the scene with a cold disdain he had liked almost immediately. It hadn’t been winter then, but the trip had been challenging for different reasons all the same.
Both the memory and the girl’s dogged determination bring an easy smile to his face as he watches her draw near. He notices how tall she is the closer she gets, and he finds he is no longer certain how old she is. The stallion has been rather inundated with the company of young women as of late, not that he minds. He sees a little bit of Lirren and Graveling in this stranger. He thinks it must be a thread of commonality between all of the youth of the world; they share the same spark in their eyes, a fragile naivety that is slowly crushed under the weight of the years. It’s still as bright as ever in this one, at least, and it makes her an ideal candidate to converse with.
She repeats her greeting again, making sure she has his attention. The grey dips his head to show he’s heard her and will wait before she closes the distance. A smile grows on his face as she introduces herself properly, her manner still so vibrant and eager. It’s a vestige of youth, he knows, but it still warms him to her nonetheless. “Hello Jhene. I’m Ramiel.” She looks chilled despite the feathered wings and shaggy coat she wears, and he wonders about her origins. Perhaps some far-flung desert herd? “Here in Beqanna or here in the meadow?” He decides she must be from Beqanna at least, sporting as many accouterments as she is. He’s heard that they are rather unique in that way. But where, then, is her home?
Ramiel’s answer will always be straightforward and given with a large dose of pride. “My home is the Dale, to the southeast of here.” He points in the direction with his muzzle, seeing the trail of prints he’d left behind clearly in the snow. When he looks back at the young woman, his golden eyes soften. She’s so accepting and curious of a total stranger. It is clear her life hasn’t been touched by darkness in the way that the Dalean children’s has. It makes him wish Graveling had been born here, with Gail in the flesh. It plants hope in his mind that one day Lirren will understand the depths of Elysteria’s love for her. He wants the best for all of them, even this happy girl – he hopes nothing will change her simple happiness. It’s a naïve hope (that his eyes no longer shine with, but he carries it in a corner of his heart anyway) but he holds onto it.
“Only in winter. The cold will soon pass,” he says, laughing lightly at her worry. And it is true. The birds are already returning from the overwintering nests elsewhere. He hears their songs in the earliest parts of the morning, just before sunrise. Truthfully, he’ll be glad for the change himself. Spring brings new beginnings, after all. It is time for the Dale to turn its own corner. But thinking about the mountain kingdom is exactly what he’s meant to avoid by coming here, so he shakes his head of the thought and nods at a nearby tree. “See that bird? It’s a robin. It means that spring is not too far away.” The young king smiles at Jhene, feeling far too much like Weir as he tells her about the red-chested bird. Ah well. He was bound to rub off on him eventually. “Where are you from, Jhene?”
Both the memory and the girl’s dogged determination bring an easy smile to his face as he watches her draw near. He notices how tall she is the closer she gets, and he finds he is no longer certain how old she is. The stallion has been rather inundated with the company of young women as of late, not that he minds. He sees a little bit of Lirren and Graveling in this stranger. He thinks it must be a thread of commonality between all of the youth of the world; they share the same spark in their eyes, a fragile naivety that is slowly crushed under the weight of the years. It’s still as bright as ever in this one, at least, and it makes her an ideal candidate to converse with.
She repeats her greeting again, making sure she has his attention. The grey dips his head to show he’s heard her and will wait before she closes the distance. A smile grows on his face as she introduces herself properly, her manner still so vibrant and eager. It’s a vestige of youth, he knows, but it still warms him to her nonetheless. “Hello Jhene. I’m Ramiel.” She looks chilled despite the feathered wings and shaggy coat she wears, and he wonders about her origins. Perhaps some far-flung desert herd? “Here in Beqanna or here in the meadow?” He decides she must be from Beqanna at least, sporting as many accouterments as she is. He’s heard that they are rather unique in that way. But where, then, is her home?
Ramiel’s answer will always be straightforward and given with a large dose of pride. “My home is the Dale, to the southeast of here.” He points in the direction with his muzzle, seeing the trail of prints he’d left behind clearly in the snow. When he looks back at the young woman, his golden eyes soften. She’s so accepting and curious of a total stranger. It is clear her life hasn’t been touched by darkness in the way that the Dalean children’s has. It makes him wish Graveling had been born here, with Gail in the flesh. It plants hope in his mind that one day Lirren will understand the depths of Elysteria’s love for her. He wants the best for all of them, even this happy girl – he hopes nothing will change her simple happiness. It’s a naïve hope (that his eyes no longer shine with, but he carries it in a corner of his heart anyway) but he holds onto it.
“Only in winter. The cold will soon pass,” he says, laughing lightly at her worry. And it is true. The birds are already returning from the overwintering nests elsewhere. He hears their songs in the earliest parts of the morning, just before sunrise. Truthfully, he’ll be glad for the change himself. Spring brings new beginnings, after all. It is time for the Dale to turn its own corner. But thinking about the mountain kingdom is exactly what he’s meant to avoid by coming here, so he shakes his head of the thought and nods at a nearby tree. “See that bird? It’s a robin. It means that spring is not too far away.” The young king smiles at Jhene, feeling far too much like Weir as he tells her about the red-chested bird. Ah well. He was bound to rub off on him eventually. “Where are you from, Jhene?”