He had been a quiet boy. Not because he didn’t like to converse with others, but because he preferred to listen and learn from them. He liked the spaces in between the words, too. He liked watching expressions change as they lit up with passion or confusion or remorse. Every conversation he had been on the receiving end of was a learning experience. But lately, perhaps with his ever-advancing march towards adulthood, he finds that he enjoys speaking as well. There is so much to share now (now that he’s lived through adventures and overcome death). He has perspective; he is forming his own views and opinions, and he is glad to send them into open ears. Weir becomes a recipient of his newfound voice, and he is thankful that he is willing to listen.
Continus nitida - not the stallion’s homeland, but the name of the beetle. It would be a strange name for a land, Ramiel thinks, but no stranger than Beqanna, either. The man proves full of surprising knowledge, and the colt logs the information away. He learns the actual name of the place Weir journeyed from – a Gregor Valley – and he shakes his head a little. So much to learn and only a lifetime to learn it all in. How many other lands exist outside of their relatively small realm? Is Beqanna only a tiny fraction of the world as a whole, surrounded by other fractions they visit only on their furthest jaunts? It’s mind-boggling and also a bit scary to consider.
“No worries,” the boy says in regards to the mix up. “I wager you’re rather familiar with valleys then, but this is ours.” He nods as the view opens up. Weir doesn’t have to look or take it all in, but he does, and Ramiel smiles. In the midst of Carnage’s quest, in the most tangled, messy parts, he had thought he might never see the Dale spread out before him again. He had thought of the glossy river when he had thirsted, had wished for the shade of the mountains when he burned under the last sunset of the world. Seeing it now, a great relief pulses in his throat and he swallows nostalgia at the memory. Weir forces him from his reminiscing when he comments on the activity, as he has to agree.
“A sight that should be earned, definitely. Are you a man of words or action, Weir? Will you join a caste?” The grey boy thinks he knows, but he has been surprised by reality before. The trail widens as the find its base, the slope suddenly very steep as it connects to the meadow by a dip in the ground. The trees pull back like a curtain once they reach flat ground. He admits to his mother’s trouble with her skin (shining, yes, but also sharp and blinding) and watches the roan’s reaction. Weir thinks of a problem Ramiel has never considered, and he lets out a bark of a laugh. Surely itching was the least of her concerns!
He then says that he will need to look at Tiphon to know if he is an angel or an imposter. “Seeing is believing, as they say.” The two-year old thinks Weir will appreciate clichés, for some reason, and he feels oddly proud to have supplied one of his own. He even sneaks a peek to see if the man has noticed, as if he wants to be able to impress this already knowledgeable man. He shares more with the younger horse, and Ramiel soaks it all in. So Beqanna isn’t unique for its traits, only its variety, perhaps. Interesting. Weir confirms that he is hiding one of his own, and he looks at him openly this time. Manipulating the magic of others…how specific! Talk turns to changing floods and fire and drowning, and Ramiel’s golden gaze widens. It may be rather specific, but it’s undeniably powerful. “That is very impressive. And useful.” He flicks his gold and black tail once, thinking of the uses for such a trait. “There are several magicians sitting on the thrones of the other kingdoms, plus several running around besides. Maybe you could talk one into letting you practice.” He says, smiling because he doesn’t think any magician would want him within a hundred miles.
r a m i e l
what a day to begin again