"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
There is a strange comfort in the sharp, effervescent sting of pain, in the familiar pull of his bones. It has begun to ease, the jagged edges of his armor settling with the flesh it splits. Settling with age. One day it would stop altogether. He wonders if he will miss it. Wonders what will drag him back to reality if not the sharpness of raw skin against bone.
Perhaps that is when he will truly lose himself. Or perhaps that is when he will finally find himself.
These are silly musings of course. For all his grasp on the future, he still cannot predict all the choices that will lead to the as yet empty prophecies spinning around in his head. A hundred - a thousand threads, yet only one will ever come to pass. If he were cleverer, perhaps he could determine the truth better.
Or perhaps not. He has long since learned just how unpredictable equine nature could be. Predicting the unpredictable is an impossible task.
His breath billows in the air around him as he sighs. The early autumn morning is chilly, frost crunching beneath his hooves as he picks his way idly along the edges of the treeline. Leaves hang precariously from branches, edges curled around as though grasping desperately to the life they have left. But green has faded to red and orange and yellow, spelling certain death for that desperate foliage. The trees would survive, but their leaves would be lost to the yearly sacrifice winter demands.
Reave nearly chuckles at the macabre thought, though all that escapes his a soft huff, another breath of billowing white. Optimism demands that one imagine the coming winter is merely an opportunity for rebirth, but Reave has not been feeling particularly optimistic of late. It’s hard when darkness swirls around every edge and answers linger just beyond his far-flung reach.
Turning, hooves drawing to a halt, Reave eyes the river. It rushes cold and violent, as though trying to escape what it knows is coming. But there is no escape. There is never escape, not truly. There is only making the best of what they are given. And Reave is no different from the rest.
He had come here for answers, but he’s no longer certain he will find any waiting for him today.
a certain type of silence has filled my voice I scream beneath the water, and make no noise
She doesn't often think about the future or what its visions mean - she's old enough to know that nothing is certain up until the last moment, and that only after someone makes their decision, any of the possible futures go from 'possible' to 'most likely'. Sometimes that is not until, say, a heartbeat before it happens, and sometimes it can be days or a whole moon ahead. In fact, the most reliable predictions are what someone's unborn child will look like, because once made, they are the least likely to still alter until a certain age.
Right up until they start making their own conscious decisions, like where to go or who to ask for a change.
None of that bothers the old white mare today as she makes her way north from Loess towards the River. She just likes to wander, now that she has moved out of her second home. The future is ever-changing and in the past nothing had stayed the same.
She finds the troubled mind when rounding yet another river bend. She is not surprised to find him here, nor can she say she has expected him. He is, like everyone else, part of the million possibilities, and the longer he had walked in this direction, the more certain it had become that they should meet each other; when he had stopped walking, the possibility of meeting right here had become a certainty; - one she had picked up on and accepted for the truth.
But even without all those possibilities of the future, Ilma knows a troubled youngster when she sees one; she doesn't need any sort of prediction to interpret the frown on his face as he mentally asks the water for guidance. She doesn't have answers, either. Nothing in life is clear and they'd best accept that. Still. Sometimes all they need is a shoulder to lean on.
"Hello," is all she says, the universal greeting all she needs right now. There is no bidding him good day, morning or night, for it might not be. There is also no fancying or being surprised at meeting him here; her golden-amber eyes find his blue ones as she waits for a reply, knowing it will come, but not how or when exactly. As is the nature of all things future.
will you let me follow you, wherever you go… bring me home?
Ilma
@Reave Here is something. Philosophy to the max but I was just looking for an excuse to thread with you (:
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
He stirs when the soft thump of steps reach his ears, heralding the arrival of another. As gregarious a creature as he is, he had hoped to find someone. He always hopes to find someone, if for no other reason than to alleviate the boredom that looms ever-present, waiting to fling him into his next ill-advised adventure.
Like her, Reave cannot claim surprise at the sight of her. Her face is not a familiar one, but it is expected all the same. Her greeting is simple, making no demands of him. The call of a passing stranger. One that could be nodded off as easily as it could be accepted and built into more. Sometimes so much more, and yet other times nothing at all.
Yet he finds his lips tilting into a familiarly rakish smile, blue eyes gleaming behind the mask shrouding his features. Even with the weight of his reality resting so heavily on his armored shoulders, he cannot seem to quell the vivacious, reckless charm that is his armor as much as the one punching through his skin.
It would be so easy to return her bland hello with one of his own. So incredibly easy to slip into yet another conversation about the most inane subjects that always seem to begin any relationship. And so incredibly boring. At this moment, he cannot stomach even the thought of it. He might truly go mad if that is all this morning holds.
Instead he asks, “Do you ever wonder what is beyond all this? The secrets behind it that give everything that exists a breath of life?”
He’s never been terribly philosophical before, but they are questions that have rested too heavily on him in recent days. Not because he wants a philosophical answer, but because he wants to know. It’s a foolish wish, but he has always been an undeniably foolish creature in this respect.
reave
@Ilma I'm sorry it took me 85 years D; Reave apparently is feeling philosophical too though hahaha
a certain type of silence has filled my voice I scream beneath the water, and make no noise
Time is an odd dimension for those who knows bits and pieces of what could be possible in the future, given this or that decision. There are large turning points, like when a dragon decided to rain down flames on a land below, or when a god decided to dig into a Mountain. Then, there are small knots in time like these, moments that could be anywhere in space or time and would not alter a major storyline for years to come, or maybe never at all. Things that hardly alter the flow of the rest of the universe, like a single grain of sand in the river below. Lots of sand would alter it’s course as much as a rock, but a single one in itself doesn’t stand out.
The male before her is bored, or preoccupied and maybe just both. Her greeting being an opening that could lead to anything, he chooses to follow a different course and she follows. Maybe she has nothing better to do; after talking to Cheri, her ripples in the river of time were enough to stir some action, but the waterfall that will shortly follow and erase the queen of the south’s land, practically made her movement nugatory. Almost, that is - because the one thing led to her being here and also leads to her being somewhere that is not Tephra in the near future. And that might just change things for her - not for anyone else, per say, but there is a change.
However, her intuition, her visions and dreams that may be - they don’t tell her anything about the when exactly. So she gave up looking for that, too, and instead wanders almost as aimlessly through the world as anyone else. Almost. She will regain what was lost at some point, she knows. She will change then, she thinks. In what way, she doesn’t bother spending her days on. No point in wondering about things beyond her influence.
She says as much to Reave. ”I think if we knew the secret to life, we’d forget the point of asking.” She eyes him sideways, standing next to him on the riverbank. ”Knowing the endpoint of a road is fine, but the journey becomes meaningless if we don’t experience the twists and turns.” Which is, in fact, why she thinks that seeing the future is not as great as it sounds. ”Besides, everyone makes last-minute decisions that can’t be seen. It’d be madness to try and follow every strand of possibility.”
She lets the words hang in the air above the river, twisting an ear towards the male and yet instead she focuses on the water below. It’s gurgling sound is comforting in a way, and helps clear her mind. Away with the visions, away with the compelling feeling to move here or there. But it’s part of her now, and she wouldn’t be herself without.
”If you want to say you’re mad, though, I’d expect you could start with the faeries.” Magic, after all, as far as she knows it stems from them. And they from life. They’re the closest thing to a bridge between the mundane horses on the plane of reality and the source of magic and life itself. Ilma wouldn’t go there. But if he insisted, he might, perhaps. ”That is, if you’re prepared to lose everything to gain such an understanding.” she warns almost casually. There would be a price and it would likely be his life, his soul, or something similar. The white mare isn’t at all ready for such a trade, but who knows what’s going on in the stallion’s head?
will you let me follow you, wherever you go… bring me home?
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
He is as familiar with the currents of time nearly as much as any creature could be. Despite his relatively short years, he had swiftly learned it is a fool’s errand to try following them to their inevitable conclusions. He might hazard a guess, but he has neither the patience nor the wit to do so with any degree of accuracy. The only time he even bothers is when he knows another well enough to understand how they think. And then, is it really foresight, or simple intuition brought about by knowing something well?
Reave had asked the mare a question that has no true answer, and yet answer she does. His blue eyes, vibrant and hungry behind the soft glow of his mask, rise to study her. What must she think of him greeting her simple hello with such a deeply philosophical question?
He really hopes that she does not mistake him for a wise or thoughtful creature because of it. She would be sorely disappointed if she did.
His lips kick up into a wry grin at her thoughtful retort. She was also being generous if she didn’t believe him mad already. Just perhaps not in the way she had meant. When she offers her warning however, he can only chuckle. He has already risked everything for knowledge more than once, so it is not quite the warning it should be. Not for him, at least.
Rune shrieks his disgruntlement from the sky overhead, making Reave laugh again.
“Your warnings are wasted on me,” he finally replies, his gaze flicking back to the turbulent surface of the river. “But I’m not desperate enough to go seeking answers where I know I won’t find them.”
The fairies might be many things, but the answer to his foolish musing they are not. He’s seen enough of them to know that. They are powerful creatures, yet he doubts even they would know the answers to his questions. The gods alone might hold those answers, but he’s not prepared to die in order to find them.
After a moment of silence, he finally turns his gaze back on the pale mare, eyes twinkling with faint amusement. “Given your ready answer though, I suspect you have in fact wondered the same things yourself.”
a certain type of silence has filled my voice I scream beneath the water, and make no noise
Sometimes, no, oftentimes, Ilma has found that expecting nothing is the best way to go about meeting basically anyone. She sees possible outcomes, yes; futures in which for example, Reave had ignored her, said hello normally - including a name exchange - and some in which he had been a little chagrined, too. But her timing had given her the bored-philosopher-version, and to say that she was surprised by his attempt to have anything but a normal, boring conversation is received equally well as when he had simply greeted her.
When he says her earnings are wasted, she cannot claim surprise either, but it incites a small laugh. ”I still feel better for doing so, as unnecessary as it may be,” she explains and then chuckles, realising that a lot of her teachings and warnings would be for her own benefit - sleeping better at night - than for the receiving party.
His next probe dims the laughter in her throat though not the sparkle in her eyes. Bemused, she looks at him. ”I’m sure everybody thinks about it sometimes. But as our meeting and your asking became more likely, I did get time to think on it a little longer than most, yes.” She looks from him to the river, then follows it to upstream, musing over what the future holds and finding the body of water quite the representative for the flow of time; just like she sees a leaf float upstream, and can predict it coming by a certain point downstream - still irregular enough not to know where exactly it will pass, only that it will.
”I guess you knew that, too. Yet you still ask, for if you don’t, you wouldn’t get nor know my answer.” She tilts her head af him and looks the bone-clad chestnut in the eye. It’s not often one meets a similar mind; even though his is vastly different from hers in so many other ways.
will you let me follow you, wherever you go… bring me home?
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
Trying to follow every possibility is a certain path to madness as far as Reave is concerned. He could spend lifetimes watching the ebb and flow of possibility and never know which is truth and which is nothing more than smoke. Perhaps one day, after he has lived long enough, he would find himself with little better to do. For now though, there are too many other things that compete for the limited attention he has to give.
They may share a similarity in their gift of foretelling, but that is where the similarities end. Reave’s tempestuous nature would not find relief in watching the leaf float along the inconsistent edies of the river.
His grin widens at the chuckle following her admission. “The selfishness of equine nature,” he replies thoughtlessly, lazy amusement threaded through his low voice. He would be the last to judge her for it though. He is inherently selfish himself and has never tried to deny it. “It’s your breath to waste.”
Reave’s eyes are still fixed on the river when she continues, answering as philosophically as he had come to expect in their short acquaintance. He can’t pretend his interest in the subject isn’t waning, and he doesn’t try. When she suggests he already knew however, he shakes his head slightly, pale locks shifting across the soft glow of his mask. Bright gaze returning to her, he studies her for a moment before one corner of his lips quirks up. “I don’t have the patience to study the future that closely.” His eyes glint behind his mask, betraying a darkness buried so shallowly. “You mistake me for someone else if you imagine I want to know every detail before it happens. That just sounds… boring.”
