Perhaps never a truer word has been spoken when she reflects on Beqanna’s ever-changing nature. Though he recalls very few details, he does remember the Disruption created by the arrival of a trio of mares in the peak years of his herd life. Having had nothing to do with the resistance though, he cannot remember the outcome, but it must not have been overly dramatic—certainly it did not affect his life very much.
He nods slightly when she offers to share the past as she remembers it, eager to fill the gaps of his own knowledge. Accustomed as he is becoming to the new manifestations of magic that he keeps encountering, the sudden eruption of stardust manages to dazzle him and, utterly transfixed, he watches the shapes transform into clearer images.
The Falling Stars are wholly unknown to him. They must have descended during one of his several absences from Beqanna. He cannot help but linger at the image of Carnage that she creates. His ignorance does not extend far enough to include his grey cousin in its shadowy grasp, but as they’d never met in the past, it is intriguing to see her representation of him.
At first, he does not register the meaning of her words as the newest addition takes shape, but his eyes shift from the star-lined shadow to Ryatah herself. Then it clicks into place as he looks at her for a long moment. He chuckles softly.
“Well, I couldn’t have gotten any luckier than asking you for the Dale’s history, could I?”
It is not a question that requires an answer, so he offers a smile to share with her and returns his attention to the canvas she’s created.
A twinge of discomfort fires through every nerve in his body as she resumes her story with the Catastrophe. Like everything else, he is minimally aware of the event as a whole, but this memory unsettles him because it is the last thing he remembers before Beqanna decided to bury him alive.
He had just returned from yet another ‘sabbatical’ when the kingdoms coalesced into just three. This time, he failed to find Demise again and so he decided to venture to the Forsaken Chamber. He still wasn’t sold on life under a king or queen’s rule, but he was curious to see what the fuss was all about, since he wasn’t particularly interested in gathering a new herd without Demise at his side.
He still does not know what happened that day. He just remembers days that turned into years, then decades of dark and damp. So, it is fascinating to see the changes wrought in his forced absence. For some reason, he is pleased to see that his assumption that the kingdoms were restored was correct, though it leaves him even more unsure of revisiting the Chamber.
Others might wonder what it must have been like for the longtime residents to see everything they know taken from them, but he feels as though he can understand part of what they went through. It was jarring enough to return to an unfamiliar land only to discover that it is the one that you left, but to witness its complete restructuring? He cannot quite understand that, despite the remodeling that occurred after he’d returned from the sprites’ quest. That was a return of old lands and, even though he did not know much of them, they still provided some sense of familiarity.
His skin crawls at the idea of becoming plague-ridden and he finds himself losing the desire to wander off to Pangea, even though it seems apparent that the plague no longer exists. Still, he does not rule it out entirely despite his misgivings.
The remainder of her story seems a bit blurry, whether that is because the most recent times have been largely uneventful in comparison, or because his attention has begun to wane. He briefly admires the dramatic gesture of conclusion that the sweeping stardust provides, then his eyes glaze slightly as he loses himself in thought.
So many pieces, small and large, of the puzzle that is Beqanna. He knows that he has missed so much of it, yet her presentation has made him realize that he never fully understood just how much had transpired in his absence. It is a lot to process, but certainly no more than he has already been working on. He pulls himself back to the present and refocuses his attention on the ghost-white mare.
“Thank you, Ryatah. That was incredible, and it seems to me that your magic works just fine.” At the last few words, his eyes glimmer with both silent laughter and genuine reassurance.
“It makes sense now.. you have a presence about you that is almost inexplicable, but now I see that it is because you have been alive for quite some time now.”
Though he does not say it, it is comforting to speak with someone that does not wonder, that knows almost exactly what it was like during his heyday. He is not quite so adept at painting pictures, physically or verbally.
But he can pull them from his own memories, and he does so now, imagining the landscape of the Dale as it is in the daylight. Already beautiful, it is more so now that he has learned so much of its history and so it is even more tempting than it was before tonight.
He knows that there is still something that he must deal with before he decides where to rest his head, but he looks to Ryatah inquiringly.
“Will the Dale become your home once more?”
assailant
"The comfort zone is always the most desirable place to be. But in settling for comfort, there is a price to pay and it comes in the death of ambition, of hope, of youth, and the death of self."
-Simon Barnes
@Ryatah well, have more nonsense to add to yours!