In many ways, their world is constantly changing. Rulers rise and fall, kingdoms become powerful before slipping into obscurity, herds fill and then empty again. The seasons change, too. The leaves emerge again on the trees in spring, growing and sustaining the plant through summer. Then fall comes, stripping the leaves in time for a bare, cold winter. New faces promise themselves to new homes. They pledge and plead and often leave before making any real contribution.
There is change, always, but it follows a set system. The seasons change, but they are predictable. Kingdoms rise, but everyone knows it will not last. Strangers find new homes, but they do not stay forever. There is a complacency in following these rules. Ramiel knows, because he used to be rather fond of following all of them. He used to exist in the boundaries of his parents, of his kingdom. He used to believe in black and white, of the importance of practicality. He used to shudder at the thought of running off to explore when he had been told to stay.
But then Carnage had called him.
His time in space and the end of the world has made him a new man. He no longer thinks that there is an answer for everything. Mysteries still remain in this world (and the world beyond, he is sure) - and only by bending the rules will he discover them.
Noori, as he soon learns her name, is one such mystery. She is beautiful but it is because of her strangeness (not like Wrynn is because of her sweetness, because of her kind and thoughtful nature). Ramiel finds himself unable to look away from her, even as she draws nearer than a stranger ought to. The wind stirs the branches around her delicate face, looking like the halo of an earth angel. He feels a tugging at all four of his feet, but he pays it no mind for the time being.
She says she’s of the Spring, and he firmly believes her. Not that he knows what she means, exactly, but as captivated as he is, he stores the confusion away in his mind now. Later, he thinks, later I’ll ask her. She draws her face in so close that he can see every lash lining her luminous emerald eyes. He breathes in the smell of flowering dogwood and clean earth – the scent of the Dale, of home – and smiles. His youth makes him eager to linger by her side all day, this woman who already smells like she belongs, and to learn everything about her. He takes a step closer, feeling a snap and noticing the flowering grass that had, until that moment, been wrapped around his foot.
Noori breaks the moment when she pulls away. He resents the motion at first, until she opens her mouth. Her high regard or her own company is not becoming of a woman of Spring, he thinks mildly, shaking himself of the hold she’d had on him. He doesn’t mind pride. It is his greatest sin, after all. But pride without effort is unforgivable. Noori’s reveals more of herself than perhaps she means to in saying that she’s already left two kingdoms. Does fault lie with the Valley and Deserts? Or is she simply a bird overeager to leave the nest? Ramiel doesn’t know, but he’s more than willing to give a second chance to anybody. Or a third, in her case.
“The Dale is a family,” he says, noticing the way her eyes seemed to rove across his body. The action makes him a bit uncomfortable, but strangely, not in a bad way. He refuses to be so drawn to her glow again, though, and levels his gaze on her own. “If that appeals to you in any way, you are more than welcome here.” Little does he know that she calls herself Mother. If he had, he would have thought that she certainly belonged, dogwood mane and all. Instead, he watches her, wondering if she possesses the humility to integrate into their tight-knit community. “We are a small group now, but we are not without talent.”
Ramiel shifts then, fading into his ghost form with ever-increasing ease. He’s not one to show off usually, but something about this mare made it seem like she would require proof of their ‘talent.’ Something said that she was used to power and at this point, expected it. He grins at her when he sees a large rock near her hoof. Concentrating, the grey stallion lifts it into the air. He has it encircle her muzzle once before setting it back down gently, just avoiding the flowers at her feet.
r a m i e l
what a day to begin again