"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
Darkness blanketed this area. It was night, the moon only visible when the clouds let it shine through. The clouds were full of liquid, and it was ready to spill out any second. A few stars were shining through the holes in the dark clouds. Zylan was semi camouflaged in the darkness and she preferred it that way. The dark points on her blue roan coat blended in perfectly. She didn't like to draw attention to herself.
Her dark legs carried her through this strange land. She had never been here before and it was so unfamiliar. It didn't help that the clouds barely let the light of the moon shine through to guide her. All of her senses were tingling, waiting for something to jump out of the nearby grasses. She was use to this feeling. Zylan had been in a number of fights, so she made her body ready at any second.
Her mind took her back to her home lands. The herd was in constant war with the other herds around them. They were the trouble makers and everyone knew it. Her herd had no problem stealing other equines and then fighting the other herds. They loved to fight and would do it for fun all of the time. The herd was strong at first and getting stronger with every horse they took. This went on for a few months, but as time went on the herd started to become divided. The fight for power was very prevalent and eventually the horses started to fight amongst the herd. They were hurting each other, and it didn't seem to matter to anyone. With each hurt member of the herd, it was one less horse to fight off the other herds hot on their heels. The other herds started to band together to form a super herd. Everyone had enough of these trouble makers. Sure enough they were ran out of the lands by the other herds. With everyone scattered, Zylan was alone. She wasn't scared though. When someone grew up in that environment, they had to be tough. Even as foals fighting was encouraged to practice techniques that were needed to survive. They were trained to be fighters.
Zylan looked down at her front legs. She was scarred up all over her chest and legs, and even some on her face. One of the more deeper scars was right by her right eye, just missing it. She was lucky that she wasn't blind in that eye. Wincing a little bit, she could still remember the day and the fight when she received it.
She didn't know what kind of land she was walking into or what the status of the herds around her were, but she was interested. Would it be war stricken like how she was use to? Or maybe it was peaceful. She decided to stand on the outskirts of the open field before her. Zylan could observe at a distance, and keep tabs on things that were going on around her.
Though night is not his favorite time to be in the Field, he’s found himself here past sunset far more frequently than usual. He’s proving his loyalty – that’s what he’d say if questioned, but the truth of the answer if more complex than that. He’d rather not run into the king is closer to the truth; he’d rather not be reminded that the kingdom is well on its way to becoming a plaything of anyone in need of a subkingdom. The Challenge grounds should be getting more of his time as well, but the bay stallion is no longer sure who is or is not to be bothered, and given his Monarchs’ tendency to be close-lipped he doubts he’ll be finding out anytime soon.
And so he is in the Field, belly deep in the quickly growing grasses with the moonlight bright on his dark hide. The silver strands in his hair glow all the brighter, but the shadows hide the grizzle around his muzzle that are the only true signs of his age. His bay coat is flawless and unmarked – were it not for the grey in his hair and the feral look in his dark eyes it would be hard to believe that such a stallion is an army General.
Of course, the army consists only of himself and an absent mare; their slim numbers are another incentive for his presence here. Of the three horses that he has recently invited to the Falls, none of them are warrior prospects, at least not for several years. They need someone with experience, and so when he sees a mare with what seems to be more scars than clear skin, he turns toward her. She’s standing at the edge of the open area and so he leaves her more distance than he might usually, though he stills stands close enough to converse.
“It’s late to be out,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the bit of moon visible in the starry sky. He doesn’t add the ‘dangerous to be alone’ because life is dangerous regardless of time of day, and he finds such cautions to be more demeaning than useful warnings. “I’m Texas,” he adds, his voice a low drawl, and he manages to smile briefly before asking: “What’s your name?”
10-08-2015, 11:07 PM (This post was last modified: 10-08-2015, 11:11 PM by Zylan.)
She heard him before she saw him. Not that he was particularly loud, but her hearing was better than her sight. The darkness didn't make matters any better. Zylan heard the shifting of dirt under the hooves of an equine and the sway of grass against a body. Her ears perked to hear everything she could. The muscles under her skin were still tensed as if waiting for an attack. Despite that, she seemed at ease with her surroundings. She didn't want the horse to know that she could launch at them at any second. The scars, though, were a dead give away and that was something she couldn't hide. She wasn't embarrassed by the hairless scratches and scars, but proud of them. It meant that she was tougher than what attacked her. It meant that she could survive.
She reflected on her past fights. Some were won and some were lost. She knew when she could win against another equine and when she would lose. Part of fighting was using the brain. Her major life events were based on fights because that was almost all she knew. She was use to it though, and honestly didn't mind it.
She could now see the other equine. It was a stallion and he looked strong. He stood at a certain distance from her. Maybe he understood not to get too close. Some horses, including Zylan, just needed some space. His voice was low. His actions weren't intimidating, but she wasn't going to be fooled. "It is late," she agreed. He looked up at the moon and she did too. She always found comfort in the darkness and being able to hide in the shadows. "Nice to meet you Texas. I'm Zylan."
Like the Falls, the Desert’s army is in a shambles. As in, aside from a magical battle in which the best offense is their defense, the Desert has… Gumby. And maybe Shah. Yael doesn’t know what the boy is capable of yet, but she is hopeful.
Spring is transitioning into summer, and Yael finds it far more pleasant outside of the Desert now. She has a terribly thin coat, due in part to heritage and a lifetime spent amongst saguaro and sand. But with changing of seasons, she is happy to emerge from a season-long hermitage. Her golden skin and silver mane and tail shine slightly in the moonlight, reflecting the glow when others would absorb it. With great, feathered wings pressed against her sides, she mingles amongst the newcomers with a slight smile glued on her face. She seems delicate and dainty and elegant, but there is a quiet strength hidden somewhere beneath that poised exterior. Queens had to have the sort of thing, and they tend to stick with you, even after the crown is passed on.
Yael doesn’t know Texas as well as she should, but when she approaches the group on the outskirts of the Filed, she murmurs a pleasant “Xello, Teksas, “ to the curmudgeonly stallion. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the scars that created a roadmap of the mare’s life across her skin. It was… colorful, to say the least. The golden woman briefly wonders if the Desert would be too quiet for her liking - but her steal was successful, they might be in for some interesting action. She's caught the mare's name, so there's no need to ask for it again. “Zylan. I ahm Yael. Velcome to B’kanna. Vhat breengs you to ze Field tonight?”
She knows, of course. But she’s found over the years that that sort of revelation upon first meeting a newcomer is off putting for most. So she likes them to explain, in their own time and their own words.
Texas has spent time outside the borders of Beqanna, but he has no desire to return there. When he disappears (as he is prone to do every few decades) it is always within the depths of the forests or in the craggy mountains; he does not stray far from his homeland.
And so he knows that there are others out There, living lives far different from those of the horses within Beqanna. Yet as far as they are from here they find their way here, picking their way across barren wastelands or traveling across the sea, sometimes even waking in the Field despite having fallen asleep ten thousand miles away. It’s a strange place, the Field, and the feel of impermanence in the place is almost thick enough to taste.
He doesn’t know what has brought the heavily scarred mare here, but she seems appropriately wary of strangers, which Texas can appreciate. She also doesn’t seem inclined to chatter, which is one of Texas’ favorite traits in those that he spends time with. Perhaps she’d fit in at the Falls. He’s about to ask what she’s doing in the Field, but the sound of hooves makes him turn away. It is much easier to see the golden mare in the darkness than it was to see Zylan; the moonlight is especially bright on her silver mane. She smells of sand and thirst and Texas suddenly wonders if the wounded mare from the Gates had ever made her way to Desert that Yael is clearly from.
Her voice is heavily accented, enough so that he wonders if the Beqanna tongue is not her native one. She is not who he is here for though, he reminds himself, and after offering her a nod he turns back to the other mare who has just been asked a similar question to the one that he’d been prepared to voice. “Same thing I was going to ask,” he says rather than remain strangely mute, and offers a brief smile.
These were indeed strange lands. The roam mare never had a stud come up to her and start making conversation, especially in a neutral zone that no herd had claimed. She was use to stealing and force claiming. If an equine lived in her homelands they had to fight for what they wanted. Other horses, lands, or honor, it didn't matter. That was how it happened where she was from. She eyed the stallion waiting for him to make a move. But it didn't seem like he was going to.
Then Zylan heard movement in the distance. Her first thought was an ambush, that the stallion was not alone. She squinted her eyes to get a better view of the darkness around her. The muscles under her skin were tensed, ready to attack. The rustling of the grass came closer and closer until a mare appeared out of the dark. Zylan's gaze shifted from the mare to Texas and back again, but she didn't move. The mare's posture seemed at easy and that made Zylan relax a little bit.
When the mystery mare started to talk it was with an accent. Her name was Yael. The blue roan mare had never come across many foreigners in her life. Actually only one, in her old herd. She wondered who was the foreigner, Texas or Yael. They both had very different accents, and since she had never been in these strange lands before, it was hard to tell. The other horse, in her old herd, didn't sound like either of these horses standing in front of her. His voice was rough at all times with a slight drawl.
It was no surprised that the mare and stallion standing before her wanted to know why she was in these lands. Clearly she wasn't from here and they knew that she wasn't. Why would she be in a neutral ground if she was? Yael's voice intrigued her. She had never heard an accent quite like it, and Zylan found that she wanted the mare to keep talking. It was her turn now, though. She had never had a way with words or wanted to speak a lot. "My old herd...broke up, so I just wandered to the first new lands I could find." Her voice was smooth and calm, not in a rush to get the words out. She hesitated in talking about her old herd. How could she start such a conversation with horses who may not understand what she did? She realized she had no idea why they were here either. "What brings you two here?"
10-15-2015, 08:42 AM (This post was last modified: 10-15-2015, 10:45 AM by Yael.)
Just because Texas and Yael are polite at the moment doesn’t mean they haven’t had to fight for what they want. At some point in the past, they were given that choice; for Yael it led to a tiara upon her head and war and love and the greatest losses of her life. It lead to more power than she could once have ever fathomed. And though the memories are superseded by the present and the fillyhood she had now seems so archaic, she will always be Yael the foreigner and Yael the exotic; Yael, the last of her tribe. Yael, who is always of the Desert.
The heat has been baked into her golden skin, the shifting sand forever caught in windblown, silver strands. And how they came to be silver? Well that in itself is a fantastic sort of story, the kind that keeps children awake instead of lulling them to sleep. “Xere?” she asks, indicating the Field with small gesture of one of her wings. “T’is ees vhere ze Keengdoms recruit new members, or stallions come to increase t’here xerds. I am from ze. Desert.” She pauses briefly and smiles. “Or xere? ” and now she indicates a broader range with both wings. “Een vich case… t’at ees a long story. But ze short version ees t’at I vas fleeing tragedy.”
Fire. Death. The most horrid, gut and heart wrenching screams that one could ever imagine as her family and friends burned and suffocated in the canyon below. Why is it fire, always fire?
It’s been a century since Texas was a herd stallion, patrolling the field in search of women to live with him on the Wildflower Plateau. He remembers only one face among the dozens, a sunny chestnut mare whose memory brings up emotions he has closeted far back in his mind. He doesn’t think of her now; he never thinks of her anymore. It’s better that way.
Close enough this time to see, Texas notices the way the mare responds to the approach of another horse – alert and prepared in a way that only those well-practiced in war ever truly are. It’s the way Texas should respond, but he is old and confident enough that his alertness is hard to find. Zylan settles to answer Yael, and Texas flicks his dark ears forward to catch what she says. The hesitation before the explanation is telling in itself, but Texas is not given to prying (a trait rather common on those with their own secrets, it seems) and so he only nods in response; her reasoning makes sense.
Never the most skilled at the complexities of veiled meanings, Texas had taken Zylan’s own question at face value. Yael’s response to the other mare’s question gives him pause though, and he glances for a moment at the golden mare, lost in his own thoughts as she answers. “I’m from the Falls,” he replies, giving the response he’d at first been prepared to give. But since Yael had expanded he supposes that he should too, though his story is far simpler. “I was born here, in Beqanna though. Over those mountains, near the sea actually.” He gestures to the west, where the mountains that shelter the Chamber rise darkly even against the night sky.
“If you’re looking for somewhere to stay, I can offer the Falls.” He adds, responsible now for the direction of the conversation. Yael can offer the Deserts as well, and while some might like the scorching summers and rainy winters, there are many others who do not. “Before I do though – what are you looking for in a home?” He suspects that Zylan would fit well in the kingdom of the dazzling waterfall, but he knows all too well that if she doesn’t like it that she won’t stay long. Best to find out what she is looking for in the beginning.
