"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
He had never been fond of wide, open spaces such as these -- the sort where you could see for miles, all the way to where the earth melded with the horizon in the far distance. So it was that the midnight pegasus stuck to the treeline bordering the meadow, long legs steadily devouring the leaf-strewn ground underhoof as he prowled beneath the boughs like a caged beast. Autumn still clung to the land like a persistent mistress and he was beyond ready for the changing of the seasons that would bring even more frigid winds, ice, and snow flurries to his days.
Winter had always been his favorite of the four seasons, after all.
But for now, he had to endure the sight of scarlet and gold leaves fluttering about him with each whisper of the wind, the scent of moist decay all around, the crunch of dying brush beneath the weight of his tarnished hooves as each heavy step carried him onward.
Aimless. On this day, the scarred brute was aimless -- a rare state of affairs, in truth. But after many long days and nights of traversing the skies of Beqanna, he had much to digest and even more to consider. There were so many pieces tumbling onto the board before him, so many potential moves to be made. It just all begged the question, really: which move should he make first?
All of Beqanna seemed to lose their minds in autumn.
It was the season that Aela was always the most aware - the most receptive - because it was this season that resulted in offspring. For a few weeks each year, most inhabitants of this land gave themselves over to the instinct that made them no better than beasts and rutted whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Aela just always made sure that she was never mistaken as an opportunity.
She played along, as she often did. If a little extra desire made a possible recruit for the Pampas a little more interested, or if another was receptive to Aela's prodding at learning what kinds of Magic they possessed, Aela played her part in the flirtation. But just as she was a good actress, she was better at always giving them not quite what they wanted. (And if a brute was persistent, Aela was perfectly capable of dispelling that emotion.)
But the season starts to fall away, as the red and gold leaves do.
There was enough chill in the air to tell Aela that it would be safe to return to the Pampas. Her mind was reeling for more possible steals: they had already taken captives from Tephra, Islandres, and Ischia. Pangea was her former home, and therefore off-limits. Hyaline was home to Gale, and while the palomino wasn't especially eager to cross paths with her half-brother just yet, the thought of Mazikeen (and the multiple entities residing there) swayed her from instigating the East. It leaves only the North and Aela sighs, because there is nobody for them to steal from the forests of Taiga.
So what will the Pampas and its wildflower Court do?
The slender palomino is considering their options - another meeting with Reave, the upcoming coronation of Cheri - when she spies as dark pegasus. He lingers mostly in the shadows, while Aela and her gold stripes glitter clearly in the midday sun. He looks aimless, and the gilded mare slows her own travels to watch him as the pegasus takes his. "Looking for something?" she finally questions the winged stallion when she comes close enough, tilting her blazed head curiously in his direction.
They doused your soul in water, but the flames raged higher. And they called you devil's daughter, such a pretty liar.
Truly, it was a blessing he arrived to Beqanna when he did -- at the tail end of the breeding season when the females were just going out of heat and the insatiable rutting ceased. He was only male, after all. He didn't need the scent of mares with that sort of need distracting him. Nor did he need all the posturing of the other stallions to contend with -- the flattened ears, the bared teeth, the palpable jealousy. He was far too old, far too jaded, and far too busy to deal with such short-sighted colts. Let them play their little games and fill their lands with yet another nameless, faceless foal -- another dull star twinkling in their already over-full sky.
He was a pickier sort of brute.
But winter? Blessed winter. That was a time when the strong thrived, when the weak perished, when hunger gnawed at one's belly and honed the senses into a keen awareness. It was a time for survival. A time for action. He could hardly wait.
But in the here and the now, there were other things to contend with, other things to consider. Like the pretty, little palomino glinting in the sunlight just beyond the shadows of his trees. Steps slowing, head lifting, he turned his gaze upon her and let his molten orbs burn against her countenance, as though he intended to look through her and into her very soul. Her words, her question, drew a faint smirk to the corner of his velveteen lips. Had he been a more flirtatious sort, he might have answered her with a bantering reply of, 'You, of course.' But no. He was hardly in the mood for such games at present.
So instead, he answered her with a far more truthful, "Always," that singular word a near-purr as it rumbled forth from deep within his chest. Drawing to a pause at last, he pricked his ears toward her and drank in deeply of the chill autumn air along with the alluring perfume of her particular scent. Tested it. Tasted it. And filed it away.
"But are not we all?" he then posed, his skull faintly canting to the side with that question. Letting such words hang in the air for but the span of a few moments, the great brute was then surging into motion again, his long legs carrying him at a leisurely jog from the shadows and out into the sun, toward the femme. The light danced off of his scarred pelt as he moved, his marred form broadcasting to the world a tale of many hardships and even more battles with each step. Halting just beyond reach of the other, he settled himself in for a chat with a fairly relaxed sort of stance -- his right hock cocked, his tail idly swishing against the backs of his legs while he observed the delicate creature before him. When finally he spoke again, it was to see his deep baritone rumbling to life yet again like a peal of dark thunder when he observed: "But perhaps you can sate my curiosity in a small way, hmm? Assuming you'd be willing to answer a few questions for a perfect stranger."
Aela considers him carefully as her blue eyes trail over his larger, more statuesque shape.
There are scars almost over every inch of him. They remind her briefly of Mazikeen - the Alpha of Hyaline - but there are more on the dark hide of the pegasus before her. He's been a fighter for a very long time, is what his scars tell her. The winged beast has spent a good portion of his life fighting, of not being idle, and that appeals to Aela because she has spent a good portion of her life being anything but that.
He smirks at her, and Aela gives him the start of a simper.
"Well," responds the slender palomino in a light, lilting tone. "I think it depends on what you're looking for."
The winged stallion relaxes and if Aela were a kinder creature, she would have stayed to oblige him. But she had been looking for something, and the striped mare slows down for no one. The golden female took a step step through the golden meadow grasses that brushed against her and then glanced back to the pegasi. "Perhaps we might help each other," she murmurs, inclining her lovely head in an invitation to follow her. "I was looking for the nearest stream." She tells him.
They all might be searching for something, things as menial as water and grass. Even though she is an Immortal, Aela still needs sustenance. But she is searching for something more, as well. The jagged edges of her powers, the raw limits of her Magic. She imagines this world more than it currently is, overfilling with those nameless faces who aspire to nothing but obscurity.
She glances sidelong to the stallion with thunder in his voice. Aela looks up at him from beneath her lashes, wondering what it was he was searching for - Another fight? Another battle? A war? - and her blue eyes spark impishly at the thought. "I'll answer a few of yours if you'll answer a few of mine."
They doused your soul in water, but the flames raged higher. And they called you devil's daughter, such a pretty liar.
When the petite mare refused to oblige his clear desire to pause and speak, the brute felt a sudden surge of dark amusement burbling up from deep within his chest. Such amusement presented itself as a mere huff of breath, a fleeting sort of sound, but already he knew within moments of coming into contact with the palomino -- he liked this one. Shoulders rolling to see his raven-hued wings indulging in a bit of idle flexing, the stallion surged back into motion yet again so that he might join the femme on her quest for water. He made a point to shorten his otherwise far longer strides so that he might keep pace with her rather than outdistance the slender creature. But even though he walked at her side with his golden-eyed attention split between her person and the sea of grass shivering all about, it was clear enough: he was the one following her.
He wasn't one to mind such power games when he was in the mood for them and clearly, on this day, he was in the mood. Especially when the other offered to answer his questions so long as he would answer some of hers as well. Ears pricking momentarily while he considered such a thing, he was then presenting the mare with another brief flicker of a smile before agreeing on a dark rumble of, "You have a deal." What else did he have to barter? He had nothing of value here in these lands, nothing beyond his own knowledge.
For the moment, at least.
Arching his powerful neck, the winged stud began to speak again, his rich baritone imparting to the gilded female: "I'm a stranger to this place, you see, and though I've been trying to familiarize myself with its various domains, there are still gaps in my knowledge." Each word dripped past his velveteen lips with a casual sort of cadence, his tone almost bored as he admitted to both his newness and his disadvantage as a foreigner. But his eyes, not once did they lose their molten intensity throughout his explanation. "Which brings me to my first question," he actually purred, his head turning ever-so-slightly to see him imparting to his companion on a dark huff of air, "To which kingdom do you belong?"
There is a fleeting spark of a smile, and Aela nods briefly before moving on.
The slender palomino continued to step forward, trying gauge the winged stallion. His mood was schooled, calm and the Empath was impressed with the brute's restraint. She had wondered if her insistence that they move along might annoy or irritate him but he took Aela's request in measured stride. Just like the one he took while walking beside her, following rather than trying to lead the way.
A point of favor with the gilded mare.
Those who learned their place quickly enough with Aela could find a place the future she was crafting.
She listens with a keen stare, as her curiosity sharpened her blue-eyed gaze. This winged stranger wasn't the first that Aela had met. She had encountered a few in the Field before, who spoke of places in the Beyond - outside the realm of Beqanna. There had even been a girl, a heart-marked palomino that shared a similar coloring and build to Aela. A girl, she would (infuriatingly) come to find, that she shared a common ancestor with. The worlds outside Beqanna were vast and different, and for each foreigner she found, Aela strove to learn a little more about them.
This agreement they've reached should suit both of them well enough. The pegasus can learn what he wishes of Beqanna and Aela can be offered a glimpse to whatever land he had come from.
"It might take some time to do that," Aela says and flashes him a slight smile. "Hyaline is a kingdom in the East that is only home to shifters, while the forests of the North despise them." She say, recalling what Mazikeen had told her and what she knew of Nashua. "To the West, we have islands. Some are home to nereids, enchanting creatures that are sought after for their beauty. And then there were rumors of others that housed kelpies." Her smile turns sharp as she glances up again, "Equally as beautifully, but much more likely to drag you beneath the waves."
The sound of running water - and the clean pristine scent of a spring - floats foward on the autumn air.
"I reside in a territory the South, called the Brilliant Pampas." When they approach the glittering stream, Aela takes the opportunity to reveal one of her own gifts as she reaches down for current: flashing an image in the dark stallion's mind of a windflower field that appears to have no end, of being surrounded by an ocean of red, orange, and purple blooms. She drinks slowly, only lifting her lovely head when she has quenched her thirst and tilting it in his direction. "Now, where did you come from?"
They doused your soul in water, but the flames raged higher. And they called you devil's daughter, such a pretty liar.
Old habits die hard if they ever truly die at all. For the scarred brute, those habits present themselves in a barely palpable thread of tension which holds his large frame taut and at the ready even as he trails along at the side of the slender palomino, his attention split in between the pretty, little thing and the surrounding environs all the while. They're the habits of one accustomed to "sleeping with one eye open" as the saying goes. One always at the ready for a potential ambush which might lurk behind the next copse of trees. Not quite paranoid, no. But prepared? Definitely prepared.
Even so, he attends to the words spoken by the gilded mare with a hearty dose of attentive indifference -- golden eyes turning to fixate upon her as he drinks in the knowledge she imparts in regards to the various lands, though his features remain fairly expressionless while he does so. Inside, the gears are constantly whirring as he tucks away each little morsel of information, savoring it for the treat it is. Outwardly, they might as well be discussing the changing of the seasons for all the interest he shows.
But interested he is, indeed. This is exactly the sort of intelligence he had been hungering for ever since first arriving within Beqanna. Hyaline he mused, a spark of understanding flickering to life at mention of such a place being home to shapeshifters. He recalled the little colt who appeared to him in the midst of that lake where a russet and white orca had been mere moments before and suddenly, the pieces of that particular puzzle clicked into place. Expelling his breath on a quiet huff, he wondered again about the gold sabino filly he had seen walking upon the beams of light shifting atop the lake's surface. Had she been a shapeshifter as well?
Ponderings for another day, another time.
Drawing to a pause there at the edge of the creek, the midnight pegasus looked on with an idle sort of admiration while his far more dainty companion indulged in her drink at last, his molten gaze skimming the elegant curve of her neck, the way her markings gilded her very form, the -- the sea of wildflowers unfurling within his mind.
Blinking in response to that planted vision, so vivid as it shimmered there, awash in those vibrant colors of crimson and violet, he slowly turned his great skull so that he might look upon the palomino anew. As though he were seeing her for the first time. "How interesting," he expressed on a low rumble -- a near-purr -- to see each of those syllables being drawn out to their fullest extent and dripping from his velveteen lips in an unhurried yet purposeful cadence.
Though his ears flickered to attend to the various whispers of sound all around -- the rustle of leaves and wind, the cry of birds flirting with one another overhead -- his gaze remained firmly fixated upon the femme as she lifted her head from her drink at last and posed to him her own question. It was an easy enough question to answer and one he provided without pause. "Solaria," he confided before adding with a vague motion of his head in a general, westernly direction. "A land far beyond the sea."
This was the point when surely he should have felt some pang of homesickness or perhaps even loss, an ache for the land which was forever lost to him. For the family he had left behind to die. But Cassiell felt... nothing. Sentiment was an emotion he had purged from his body long ago, when he was still a young stud and in the throes of overseeing his first herd. One learned quickly enough that life was unkind and fate could be an exceptionally cruel mistress. There was no point in mourning the dead.
For mourning wouldn't bring them back to life.
But he knew his response to be lackluster where she had given him far more than he had asked for with his own inquiry. Exhaling on a low sigh, his well-muscled neck arching with the sound, he finally further expressed in his dark baritone: "It is no more, however. There was a surge of... something." Magic. He had felt that metallic tang upon his tongue on that fateful day back in Solaria. He hadn't known what it meant then, having grown up in a place where magic was seemingly nonexistent and he with his wings -- a gift from his Beqanna-born sire -- had been the most exciting exception to the norm. But he understood what it had been now, now that he could taste magic all around here. Now that he witnessed it every day. "I watched as the sea swallowed it whole," he finished at last, his tone exceptionally blase, as though he was speaking of another's life and not his own.
But there was no use living in the past when he had such an... interesting future ahead of him. Which brought him to his next question. "What quarrel does the north have with this Hyaline?"
Despite the indifference that the winged stallion so casually wears, Aela can see something flickering in the earthy tones of his eyes. She doesn't expect him to know all the places that she is speaking of, but she does recognize the spark when Hyaline is mentioned. Did he have a history with the place? Aela casts another cursory glance over the beast, wondering if took another shape besides this one.
Was he a shapeshifter?
Aela learns that he is able to maintain the mask. When she raises her head from the running water, the mighty brute merely blinks in response to the infiltration of his mind. She watches him a moment longer, wondering if he might show ire or fear or some other emotion that she might manipulate. But he holds his own against Aela, and the little palomino decides that if has no place to belong, he would fit in nicely among her wildflowers.
They could always use more capable bodies.
She listens as he talks about the land that he came from. Solaria, a name that Aela tucks away, amongst names like Terrastella and Paraiso. A land far beyond the sea that surrounded Beqanna, like so many others.
What is more interesting than the land itself is the mention of something and the keen edge of blue holds Cassiell's gaze. She listens that something had been powerful enough to sink an entire continent, and the only kind of power that Aela can equate that to is Magic. The sea swallowed the land entirely, and she wonders if such a thing could happen to Beqanna.
Perhaps.
Nothing is endless.
(Though she doesn't doubt Beqanna would emerge as something else. Nothing is endless, but nothing is always the same.)
"Hyaline stole a Northern prince," Aela reveals, moving forward in their game by stepping away from the creek. She could leave it there, having technically answered the pegasus' question. But her mouth curves when she glances back to the winged stallion, "My brothers turned a family quarrel into a political one." It reveals something about Aela - that she has ties to both places - but also offers a glimpse to the bigger scope of Beqanna: that most horses here were tied to each other in one way or another.
"This Solaria," she goes on to ask, "do you have any idea why it sunk?" Lifting her refined head towards her companion, she elaborates. "Ire of the Gods? Wayward magic from a Magician?"
They doused your soul in water, but the flames raged higher. And they called you devil's daughter, such a pretty liar.
