"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
Nayl has to remind herself when her autumn eyes glimpse the meadow unraveled in front of her. She had only been here once, maybe twice, to see her father and to feel the warmth of his body against hers. There was something about him that she adored and aspired to. She wanted to push herself to make him proud and she promised him that she would try; she wouldn't be wasted space.
But then he passed away and her hopes of making him a proud father faltered. He isn't here to see her or to marvel at his time with mother.
When she looks ahead she can see him standing above her, breathing warmly against her skin. A feeble grin lifts the corner of her mouth but it wavers when a breeze sighs into her cheek. At first Nayl withdraws and takes a step back toward the way she came but after a moment's hesitation she moves forward again. This time she doesn't stop until she is content standing in the tall grass, grazing, while her mind reminisces.
I go to the meadow, in hopes of having some time to talk. I spot a young mare in the distance. Perhaps she's up for a chat. I approach slowly and relaxed. "Hello there. My names Chezter. What about yours?" I say, as calm and relaxed as I hope I appear. In side, I'm worrying about Nadie and the falls. She showed up in such despair, I can't help but worry for her.
With summer there will be autumn next. The seasons are ever changing out here and yet so very little in the Jungle. The humidity is everlasting but on some days isn't quite as severe. It's a climate that Nayl has adjusted to over the past couple years; that explains her sleek coat that lacks any inclination of a winter fuzz. Every kiss of the breeze is felt when lightly pressed to her skin. It's a fairly new sensation, or at least one that she hasn't felt in a while. She remembers standing here with mother, father, and Thorunn before departing back into the only home she has ever known.
The memories replay on the back of her eyelids when she slowly blinks. Had she only been able to be close to him one last time. A fleeting grin flickers at his memory - his orange gaze burning into hers - but flattens when she hears looming footsteps. Assuming to have company in the new few moments Nayl lifts her head to be near eye level with the stallion. His calm demeanor doesn't affect her readiness though she masks it well behind relaxed, autumn eyes. "Nayl," she offers after a moment's pause. With few interactions with stallions she finds herself unusually quiet. Nothing else slips from her mouth as she watches him, scrutinizing every gesture and move he makes.
He had never met their father, doesn’t even know that the orange in his eyes is a remnant of Covet. Not that his eyes are orange entirely, but there’s a ring in his otherwise muddy brown eyes. But in truth, he had never mourned the loss of his father. How could he? He had nothing to mourn, nothing to go on. He couldn’t even conjure early memories like Nayl could. Rhonan had nothing to hold on to there.
Except the Valley. He didn’t know if it was home, not really. But it was Covet’s home, and for now, he was trying. Maybe one day it’d feel like his home too.
But of course, Rhonan has lived a thousand lives, though he’s barely grown. He has created and destroyed, both purposefully and not. In one of his lives, Nayl was dead. Burned, probably unrecognizable in the horde that killed Noah. In this life, she is alive.
And in this life, he sees her in the field. It’s been so long since he’s seen any of his family. Rhonan had never been good at staying, and he’d left the Jungle more often than stayed there. Unlike Tytos, who was tethered by Mom and Nayl. Today though, he figures perhaps he can at least say hello. What a terrible brother to see his own sister and then just leave.
He’s pretty shitty, but not that shitty.
It’s obvious he’s different. Grown, for one. But shadows cling to his coat over the gold, so he’s more black and white than gold and white. He’s getting better with the shadows, and usually he wraps them around him completely, turning them into his own armor or blanket. Or both, if you are Rhonan. They are one in the same, really.
But he leaves some of his normal coat showing through today, mostly because it’s Nayl. There’s another there, and he nods his head slightly, though he sucks at social interactions and most of his focus is on his sister. He does actually remember to introduce himself though, which should probably earn him a party. “Rhonan,” he says, before turning his attention completely to Nayl.
“Sister,” he says, and then falls silent, because he sucks a loving and kind and things like ‘how are you,’ but he’s trying to care by using sister and not Nayl. Trying. Probably failing, but it’s about the best Rhonan can do.
I wander away from the fire-coat stallion Raelnyx, finding two stallions and a mare. Quiet and nervous, I ask, "Am I interrupting something here?" and stay rather near Raelnyx. The fiery stallion turns me to wonder, even though most show fear at his fiery coat.
