[open] winter just wasn't my season

[Ruthless]

isn't she lovely?

Her golden coat swallowed the sunshine like liquid gold, her roaned flank tinted with the slightest of sweat as the sun continued to rise into mid-day. Another day, another afternoon of basking.
 
Her days had grown quite boring, but perhaps that is a good thing all things considered.
 
And while she had dwindled at the borders of a place she once held so tightly in her heart, she couldn’t find herself the gumption to left her leg and cross the border. Instead, our calculated mare had stood unwavering at the line.
 
She had needed a breeze, a call, a sign. Yet, nothing followed but the stillness of trees and the increasing pound that bellowed in her chest.
 
There had been a time where she had sworn avoidance to the field, unless she had been brought to save another soul. That is what the field is for, isn’t it? Horses with no purpose, no job, no grip for life find a reason to live again. Why hadn’t it worked for Brine?
 
More importantly—as a previous success story of the nomad land—why didn’t it last for her?
 
But it’s all she knew and it’s all she had left. She couldn’t find her place alone and she had no one left to turn to. She couldn’t turn to Lil, not this time and not yet. Ruth refused to let Lilliana see her as a soul in need of more saving. Our little doe needed to transform into the bear she held so protectively in the centre of her being, she needed to find the spark again.
 
But the field had been quiet and she had found herself wandering away from company whenever the opportunity had arose, the choice of solitude so much more comforting than breaking the pattern that felt embedded in her mind.
 
How do you just decide to be OK again?
 
A bird flies overhead and Ruthless flutters her eyes in response to the sporadic shadow, lifting her head to see the soft breeze caressing the tips of the outgrown blades of grass that surrounded her. One leg at a time, the mare rocks herself to stand and gives a violent shake to rid of loose turf that tried to cling to her skin.
 
Perhaps today will be different.

Ruthless

father x mother or rank

[Osiriis]

He didn’t belong anywhere, not really. He was born, and grew, in the Tephra jungle.. but was it really home anymore? How many years could one waste running borders he didn’t officially patrol? How many times could he find solace amongst its hidden treasures, specifically a cove that he liked to think of as his own. Lined with the most beautiful flora and shimmering rocks. The water always a luke warm temp, pleasant any time of the year.

His black and vermillion ombré coat slicked with sweat from the mid-day sun, but mostly from the run he just finished from Tephra, pulled and released around his muscles as he slowed upon entering the field. The green grasses caught against his vermillion legs stinging less and less as he slowed.

He kept his head low his black muzzle skimming the tops of the grasses that only a second ago found need to assault him. Why couldn’t he place the feeling in his chest, or the thoughts that ran through his mind? For all intents and purposes he had a home, a place to call his and yet this is the closest he has felt to belonging - amongst a slew of horses that didn’t belong anywhere. Others who waited, in their own ways, for someone to call them “home”.

He stopped, the thought sitting firmly and stagnant in his brain, and pulled his head up the slightest of bit his vermillion eyes scanning the group of lost, forgotten, misplaced, and misfit horses. He shouldn’t be so judge mental, he had no idea what these other horses stories were. He found himself standing there, a part of his bottom lip tucked in between his teeth, staring unknowingly at a palomino roan mare not far from him ( she looked as if she had a tired mind, who was he to interrupt her story).
@[Ruthless]

[Tarian]

Tarian had grown up watching and studying the winds. Before Beqanna, he had been like most of his ancestors. He could make the winds shift and swirl, calm a gale as it approached, or call a hurricane where there had been none.

But more importantly, his grandsire Valerio had taught there were whispers on the wind. One didn't need Magic to hear them. One didn't need to be able to call or conjure them. They only need to be aware. "The Winds and Fate often blow us in the same direction," he had once murmured. Tarian had thought it a cryptic saying but what his grandfather explained was this: the path taken is the one that a soul was meant to walk, even with all it's twisted and winding turns.

So he takes one now, arcing his wide white wings beneath a summer sky.

The sun is back, in all its shining glory, and even Tarian, who hardly leaves a moment to chance or Fate, takes a moment to enjoy it. With his last border patrol done in Loess and a more invigorated (albeit grunting) nod from recovering Ashhal, the white pegasus took off. It's a rare burst of excitement - an energy that he hasn't shown since he and Liam first learned to fly - and Tarian leaves the Southern Kingdom behind. His flight strokes carry him further from his home but don't take him towards the Brilliant Pampas, where his Queen has requested he go.

(And Tarian will. He just wants to give whoever might be dwelling in the land of wildflowers to enjoy a day or two of sunlight first. Perhaps to feel the burst of bright joy that he does in his silver chest, to know a moment of freedom that they can't be swallowed by the Dark.)

He certainly doesn't mean to fly as far as the Field. But when his hooves touch down and Tarian lifts his proud head, the groups of horses surrounding him are eager and bright-eyed. They look hopeful, an expression he hasn't glimpsed in months (because there had been little light to see any joy; because who had any joy when they were surrounded by death?) The pegasus contemplates quietly leaving before anyone takes any real notice of him. He could be gone and nobody would be any the wiser that he had been here.

Turning around like he intends to do exactly that, two horses catch his attention. A golden roan - a shimmering color that brings back memories of his youth - and a dark stallion who looked as lost as the mare, two horses who looked lost among a sea of shining faces alight with hope. With his wings still partially flared, Tarian feels a breeze pushing past him and grits his teeth. It comes again. Legado help me, he thinks and then turns to approach the pair.

Maybe they were lost here together.
Maybe there was time to convince them to turn around and come back from wherever they came from.

Lacking the finesse of words, he speaks bluntly. "Are you both lost?"

@[Ruthless] @[Osiriis]

[Ruthless]

isn't she lovely?

The field is casual as always with a soft murmur of discussion carrying to her ears. They twitch with every shift, her eyes following the the shadows of birds and the blades of grass tilting with the breeze. Soothing, soft.

And then she sees him.

He is dark with a harsh red and she wonders if it’s magic or just how he is. Should she be worried of fire, or is he just as normal as she has come to be?

Normal; how pathetic.

He observes and she returns his favor. As a child Ruth would’ve marched over to him with wide eyes and a gulp-load of questions, but now she understands the importance of an analysis. Stranger danger. Ears flicker forward and backward, wondering what he is thinking and wishing now she understood the art of telepathy.

And then: what if he has telepathy?

Embarrassment begins to swallows her but her invisible flushed cheeks are short lived as the pegasus-like creature marched himself into their mutual silence. He is effortless in his step but courageous in his presence and Ruth feels ignited by it all.

Her heart pounds and her voice chalks into dust, how long had it been since she had interacted? How long had it been since she interacted with a stallion?

Her heart doesn’t flicker to Kalil like it used to; a harsh pinch followed by an upsetting heaviness that crowds her chest. Instead, it just exists. A memory that had burned every inch of what mattered and left a layer of soot.

“No,” she finds her voice before she finds her mind and lands her gaze on the bold greeter, “I aware I am in the field.”

He did ask if she is lost, right?

Ruthless

father x mother or rank

@[Tarian] @[Osiriis]

[Osiriis]

It didn’t take long for him to realize that she, as inconspicuously as he - or rather not, was returning his stare. She looked off put, which was strange to him. No one had really looked at him in a way that could be misconstrued as caution or suspicion. Everyone always kept those stares for his father, the buffalo horse that he was. His eyes, lit like fire, traced her face and watched her ears twist and turn. He found himself following along, mimicking the slightest of movements.

She looked soft and timid, but he knew that meant nothing here. His lips twitched softly preparing to talk, preparing to say anything at all. Come on you can do it, just say hi. Even as a colt he never could find the courage to be so bold. The world doesn’t play fair with men like him.  MAKE the world play fair

He lifted a foot, a step in the right direction, but before he could do much of anything her eyes are pulled away. Her inquisitive, cautious eyes filled with grandeur of the Pegasus that Orsiriis only now just noticed. His own scarlet eyes shifted to the new comer, his ears swiveling with a slight shift of his body. The green blades of grass tickled his scarlet legs and underbelly, contrasting boldly. The new comer didn’t hesitate, didn’t wait, didn’t stare them down for an uncomfortable amount of time and Osiriis could tell that the pale roan like it. The stagering of her speech, hoarse and muddled together from what he assumed were swooning nerves. His fiery eyes rolled, unintentionally inside is obsidian head.

“Nope, not lost. Not physically. North. South. East. West.” he said motioning into the respective corners of the world. His voice was deep and husky, his speech drawn out, sounding unamused. It sounded the opposite of the grey stallion in front of him, as if he had all the time in the world for this to happen.Don’t be such a dick,  He stood shifting his eyes between the pair and moving his weight from one leg to the other. Outwardly, with his defined muscles and fiery coat, he looked bold and ready to take on the world - not so much inwardly.
@[Tarian] @[Ruthless]

[Tarian]

Tarian's heart flickered once and then it went out.

It had once hoped for many things - the life that he had been intended for: taking his place amongst a dynasty of airbenders, earning a place amongst the ancestors who had fought and bled and even died for their ancient home - and then Fate had shown how little it cared for what a young Tarian had once wished for (yes, even Tarian hoped and dreamt - even if the stoic stallion would never admit to it now).

All it took was the flicker of a moment, a shimmer of Magic, a moment of mist, and then it was all gone.

Fates, the Winds, the Gods - whatever it might have been - had taught Tarian a lesson at an early age and he is grateful for it. He had learned that Gods hold little thought for the things they destroy; for something eternal, a beginning is an ending and so the circle of immortality continues.

For the woman who sparks on the sunlight like a kindling flame, the pegasus withholds his sharp tongue (for now). He sighs and settles the white wings carefully against his silver sides. So she hopes to be recruited like the rest of them, looking for a beginning to continue that cycle of living. The way she speaks of the Field is with familiarity and there is a glint in his blue eyes for the direct way that she speaks to him.

Good. Tarian has little time for those who cower.
Not when he is representing a kingdom that has seen dragonfire, death, and theft in the last few years.

The other stallion rolls his eyes and that snaps Tarian's attention from the palomino. Not lost, retorts the brute, not physically. He wonders briefly what that means. His dark lips pull into a thin line (not quite a frown, though he feels the downward tug of it) and the Loessian lifts his head to glance between the pair. "Forgive me," the winged stallion states. "I'm still... familiarizing myself with the concept of the Field." Tarian had been born knowing exactly where he belonged. He never had to go searching for it. And he had never been a creature for conversation. "Tarian of Loess," is offered as a hesitant introduction with an expectant gaze that the duo would introduce themselves.

@[Osiriis] @[Ruthless]

[Ruthless]

isn't she lovely?

At first the beige nomad is ignorant to the black stallion’s inner dialogue, his hesitant inquisition as invisible as the envy Ruth has that the grey stallion still had his wings. She hadn’t wanted them until they were gone, and then suddenly the sky became a territory she desperately needed to search. But then the black stallion evidently changes, and Ruth sees it.

Her eyes find him after the brief sentence she is able to spit out, realizing his eyes had come clouded with… Anger? Frustration? And while the poker face may have been able to hold up in silence, his following unamused contribution to the conversation leaves her with undeniable doubt his eyes were a fiery shade of something.

Ruth is ignorant to envy and jealousy, life hadn’t taught her that lesson yet. She had somehow found one heart to beat with and the competition had been nonexistent; the falling part had been easy, like a rock tumbling into beautiful waters instead of wallowing on a cliff edge.

Which only means she is also just as ignorant to being swooned, a mare unaware of the advances the universe had to offer because she had been stuck on pause in finding a new home for so long. What was love anymore? And if all it brought was emptiness and confusion, did she even want it?

Hardly.

She holds her attention to him a minute longer curious as to what burns in his mind and why she cannot put her thumb on how he feels. But the conversation continues and her attention shifts to follow the bold stallion settle his wings and sigh through his dark lips.

The grey apologizes and Ruth is suddenly very aware of her confusion to what exactly is happening between the lines, and she quickly glances to the unnamed stallion to take in his following expression. There is an understanding between them and despite not knowing what it is our golden mare hopes it snuffs the flame that burns faintly in his otherwise soft eyes.

Our little doe lacks confidence when the energy changes.

Forgive me, I am still familiarizing myself with the concept of the Field.

Brine had been a common-land dweller for years before Ruth had even existed and for an entire year after birth Ruth had learned what life is like without the aid of a community. What Winter is like when food is hard to come by and the winds are so blistering that patches of skin show from ice shards nipping at her coat. And despite all of that, Ruthless still finds the common lands calling to her when life becomes overwhelming or hard and when all else fails, she knows at the very least the common lands will be here with all their familiarity and predictability. Chaos is control.

“Loess,” she repeats trying to remember if the place sifted a memory before following with a more inquisitive intention, “what is it like there?” The palomino had been an adventurer with an intention to see what more was hidden beyond the boundaries of Brine, but as she had aged the motivation to care had slowly diminished into an occasional ring. Like an old friend that had moved away, hardly to visit no matter how often you both insist. “The field is all I know, really.”

"Ruthless," she follows allowing herself to find a small amount of confidence in her voice, "Or Ruth."

Ruthless

father x mother or rank

@[Tarian] @[Osiriis]

[Osiriis]

Conversation doesn’t come naturally to him - unless you are a colorful toucan or a sunbathing lizard. Had he ever talked to a girl? Yes, she was beautiful but like the tide of the ocean picking away the grains of sand she too slipped away. Was he trying to court the golden woman who reminded him of said pieces of sand? He didn’t know but she’d probably slip away too. He couldn’t even place the feeling that sat behind his eyes, that trickled into his heart. Anger? Nah, probably not. Jealousy? Possibly, but of what? Of her apparent attraction to the grey Pegasus or of the grey Pegasus himself? He watched the grey Pegasus with what seemed to be mild interest - it was anything but.  His eyes crinkled at the edges, just a smidge, when the grey Pegasus apologized. The field is what the field is. Misfits. Lost souls. New beginnings. Freedom. An anchor.

His fiery gaze is pulled to the palomino a sudden shift of his interests. For what ever reason he found himself anticipating her next words, her answer of who she was and where she came from. Tarian who? The confidence and giddiness he saw there just a moment ago fizzled and burned slower than before. Ruthless. Ruth. How fitting. Fiery and soft depending on the moment. It would seem that the field was all she had known but wasn’t all she wanted to know. His father had not been from Beqanna, he had woken in this very field. He had always thought one day he would be one of the greats who would expand their home by bringing people home, showing them the beauty of his land. Maybe he could convince her to come back with him to Tephra. Maybe she would want to spend lazy days in his spot picking through the colorful pebbles and picking aromatic flowers. But, maybe she wouldn’t. The heat gets to be to much sometimes, and sweat sticks to you like honey.  

It’s your turn. Who are you?

His voice deep and smooth, like the gentle waterfall that always kept “his place” well quenched, dribbled from his lips Osiriis, from Tephra. he nodded towards Ruth(less) and then to Tarian. Some are lost, some are searching, some call it home, some where rooted here long before their existence. I think you will do just fine in the field. he left it at that. A question of whether he thought he would be a good lost soul or whether he would be a good recruiter hanging in the air between them.
@[Tarian]
@[Ruthless]

[Tarian]

It isn't that Tarian can't be sympathetic - he is capable of compassion - but the silver pegasus has never been lost. Not in the sense that @[Osiriis] is speaking of. As a boy, his future was preordained from a dynasty that went so far back that no horse could distinguish a time that Paraiso had a leader without Legado's blood flowing in their veins. His youth was planned out - days of lessons and learning, histories of battles and tactics, and then when he came of age, the sparring and the fighting techniques that had made his grandsire and great-grandsire such renowned warriors.

Then, there were days where Tarian learned the protocol of the royal court and the importance of the roles that each horse held.

Liam used to remind them that it was a good thing that serious, somber-eyed Tarian was the Heir because he would have made a horrible diplomat. He was far better at fighting than speaking and there was a grace to him on the battlefield that fled when his mouth opened. (In some ways, his fighting style and his social abilities were the same - quick, direct, blunt.) His brother would most likely laugh to see Tarian now, attempting at idle conversation.

When the other stallion mentions that he is from Tephra, the gray lifts his head curiously. He assumes the bigger brute doesn't share his dark humor or Tarian might have made another attempt at a joke, asking if the Western had made any sacrifices to the Volcano recently (is that how the sun returned?). He isn't entirely sure how to answer the other as debating the philosphical is not one of his strengths. So the pegasus simply tells her, "It's like no other place in Beqanna." It sounds rather cryptic and the statement could likely be applied to all areas of this land but it's true for Tarian. "Open sky, warm sun, only a few residents." These are all the things he enjoys most Loess and so these are what he shares with the palomino mare.

His idea of Paradise.

"Ruth?" he says, turning the name over on his tongue. It's a familiar name but the face is foreign to him. The word feels heavy - the weight of the word lingering from another lifetime and wanting to be lifted in this one. His rather stoic expression changes and he considers @[Ruthless]. "The last Ruth I knew was a skilled General," he tells her, and something in his stance changes. That Ruth had been a trusted advisor of his grandfather, had been a pegasus like Tarian and had shared the gold coloring that was so common in his fraternal bloodline. A spark in his dark eyes emerge and it compelled Tarian to ask them both: "would you like to know something else?"

[Ruthless]

isn't she lovely?

Had she of known the fear that laid behind the black stallion’s neutral eyes, she would have found connection. Perhaps not romantically—for her, romance had become a complicated emotion that chased her farther than any pack of wolves could—but most certainly something. She would have related to him on a level that not many could. Abandonment had been a feeling she had fought a war against for so long to only realize that lately her army is worn and thin.

The casual exit of a guardian left a stamp on her heart that no amount of security or validation could heal.

But she is as ignorant to his fear as she is to the unsociable demeanor of the Pegasus stallion. They were both coping wonderfully.

The onyx male has a heavy gaze that she feels pull her attention ever so slightly to him, wondering what possible wheels could be turning in his head. Osiriis he says and she watches as his expression remains cool and distant as the words continue to carry to her ears. Tephra, another place foreign to her and as secret to her as he is.

“Tephra, pretty name. What brought you from the borders of Tephra to the territory of the field?” She asks, her voice soft and neutral in effort to match his energy as if to make him more comfortable—more secure.

The conversation travels and for once Ruth keeps up with it’s pace, the narration and negative script in her mind muted by the distraction of company and banter. Tarian answers matter-of-factly to her inquisition on his home and she takes it with a grain of salt—surely it couldn’t be the best in Beqanna.

But what if it is?

He says her name as if holding it in the cradle of his tongue and for the first time ever she feels confidence in her introduction. As if maybe, just maybe the initial greeting could be tolerable. You know, if she does this again.

“That’s quite the impression to live up to,” she responds but continues to listen and despite not answering his test of her curiosity, she waits for him to continue because if there is one thing Ruth is, it’s curious.

Ruthless

father x mother or rank

@[Tarian] @[Osiriis]