"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
Everything is so cold. And yet somehow, it feels right to her.
The speckled filly shifts in the dirt, tiny nose whuffling quietly at the air. There’d been someone there before, someone icy and familiar, someone safe. But now they’re gone.
Mama. Where had she gone?
She forces herself up onto shaky legs, frosted nose testing the air. But there’s nothing. Nothing at all. She’s alone.
She stumbles forward, her thin voice breaking through the quiet. “Mama?” Nothing. “Mama?!” Still nothing.
As she walks, little white cold flakes fall off her body, disturbed by her movement. She doesn’t notice though, as absorbed as she is in her goal.
She wanders for a little while through the den, trying fruitlessly to find any trace of her mother’s scent. But after a little while she gives up. It’s hopeless. Mama isn’t coming back.
She slumps back down into the dirt, and a few tears carve dark tracks down her frosted cheeks. She’s so alone. She wishes she knew what to do. Hopefully her Mama will come back and find her soon. But if she doesn’t …
Usually the roan male avoids the adoption den at all costs. It is a sad, hopeless, place. That's no where for Weir to travel, no where indeed.
He takes the long way home more often than not, steering clear of the cries and torment of the abandoned children. Somehow today though, on his way home from the field- he's wandered much too close to the den's borders. Much too close.
The faintest voice reaches his red ears, pulling him from his thoughts, a light snowfall flaking down on his back. Lucky for Weir he no longer feels the cold, doesn't suffer from the chill of winter. He is his own winter now.
The girl's call pulls at him, and he turns his head when his body stops. It's not a halting stop, not a sudden one either, Weir doesn't often travel quickly. Today is no exception. He should really just keep going, just carry on Weir. But he doesn't, he never does as he should does he? Instead, Weir progresses forward, passes through the dens borders and searches for the young girl that calls out for mother. One more couldn't hurt could it? There was room, there was plenty of space in the Dale for others. Gods know that they needed them.
It isn't hard to spot the girl, no pun intended, but she is covered in speckles. Dots of smoke crossing her small body, a small body tipped in frost. For a moment, Weir's heart drops, sinks to the pits of his stomach. Then the girl moves, very much alive, not exactly frozen to death at all. His ears pull forward in interest, in curiosity and he speaks. A gentle nicker forming and flowing past his velvet mouth. "Halloo there young lady. Hallo and good day to you, a am not mother, indeed it is true. I am Weir, at your service." He smiles and dips his head in a bow, treating the girl like a tiny queen.
FIRST WE'LL MAKE SNOW ANGELS FOR TWO HOURS THEN WE'LL GO ICE SKATING
Her head drops down to the dirt, cold tears watering a tiny patch of struggling grass. Why would her mama be gone? Why would she leave her here, all by herself?
She thinks hard, trying to remember her mama’s face. The image of a kindly speckled head swims across her vision. But, she’d been sad too. Something had been wrong.
She shifts uneasily in the dirt, a few more tears spilling out and carving more dark tracks through the frost on her cheek. What had been wrong? Why had she left?
Her thoughts are disturbed when a soft nicker sounds out across the den. Her tiny head lifts, startled by the sudden noise. Brown eyes widen at the seemingly sudden (to her) appearance of a large roan stallion. He dips his head at her, smiling and greeting her. For a moment the girl is frozen, stunned. Where had he come from?
But after a few moments she finds her voice and her lips begin to move. “Hi, I’m Neva.” Mama had given her a name before she had disappeared. She remembers that much.
She snuffles quietly, another tear trickling down her now soggy cheek. “What happened to my Mama? Where did she go? Why did she leave me?” Her big brown eyes stare right up into the stallion’s face, hoping against hope that he knows where her Mama went.
Where the girl's mother has gone, Weir can not begin to know. He can not begin to guess either, so he doesn't. He waits a time, listening patiently as the child speaks, somber questions forming from her tiny velvet mouth.
"It is a good question you Neva, it is a fair question too. Alas, I can not say that I know where you mother has gone off to. I'm sure she has her reasons." He says plainly, bending his head to the girls level, peering down with golden eyes. He breathes a blast of winter air into the fillies face, crystallizing the tears as they stain their way down her face. He gently brushes the ice away, the thin layers cracking easily and falling away at his touch.
"There there now. Do not cry my dear, chin up." He nuzzles her face gently, pushing her nose up with his own. "I haven't any ideas where you mother or father might be, but you can come with me. I live in the Dale, very nice place, much nicer than here I should say. Much less sad for sure." He takes a moment to look around, watching as the fae flit about from ward to ward. He would take them all, indeed he would, but even a stallion such as Weir is better off knowing his limits. Not biting off more than he can chew.
"Indeed my dear, no need to fret." He insists, sounding rather certain now. "I'll take care of you." He smiles gently, sending a flurry of snowflakes to twist around her, tickle at her cheeks and blow her hair around. "Come, we'll walk, we'll talk."
FIRST WE'LL MAKE SNOW ANGELS FOR TWO HOURS THEN WE'LL GO ICE SKATING
He does not hide the truth from her, quickly admitting that he does not know where her mother has gone. Her eyes instantly well up even more and the tears simply start pouring down her frosty cheeks. “But … but …”
Her breath comes in shuddering starts, and the whites of her eyes start to show as panic sets in. What will she do? What can she do? She’s all alone, and her Mama doesn’t seem to be coming back.
She twitches in surprise when the stallion reaches down and brushes frozen tears and frost away from her cheeks. She hadn’t even noticed the winter air in her face.
Her eyes widen at his words and her shuddering breath slows. Her head cocks to the side as she stares at him, completely at a loss for what to say. She can’t stay here, she knows that. She’s cold and hungry, and her Mama has been gone for a long, long time. But … but …
“But … what if Mama comes back? What if she’s looking for me?” As young as she is, she still clings to the hope that her mother hasn’t actually abandoned her. That perhaps her mother just got lost somewhere on her way back. Deep, deep inside, she knows that something else is going on, that something is wrong, but she can’t admit to it, not yet.
Still, she knows she can’t stay here.
“Could … could we let her know, somehow?” Her eyes look hopefully up at the roan stallion. Maybe he’ll have an idea.
N E V A
walking in a winter wonderland
Uuugh why are all my posts so horrible right now? D:
He's always liked children, Weir has. Children tell it like it is and most have not yet been warped by the world in some crude fashion. It is no surprise that he has taken to the frost tipped girl, nor should it be. That, along with his newly acquired wintery gifts, well, he felt a connection one might say. Besides, plenty of room in the Dale and what was one more?
Weir did not often feel the need to lie when it came to the young, honesty is the best policy you know. So lie to the girl, he does not. Perhaps he should but would that really be helpful? He doesn't believe that it would help in the slightest, so he refrains from tall tales and continues with what is and what isn't. "Indeed, Mother isn't about at the moment. Who's to say she wont be though? You're quite right, we will leave a little something behind so she will know. If she returns." He pointedly says, because he does not want the girl to get her hopes up too much. Best to not set oneself up for disappointment later.
It's a fair thought Weir decides, because he wouldn't claim to know the inner goings on of others. For all he knew, the girls mother might come back after all. Very well then.
He smiles, a broad grin, a happy one spanning across his ginger lips. Before the snow swirls about him in large archs and curves. The temperature drops about him as well, fogging up the breath that whispers from his chest and coating the area around him with frost. It's not frost he needs though, just some ice. Ice that he uses to construct a life size replica of Neva, with intricate details, down to the last hair on her mane. In the side he makes sure to engrave the words, 'Neva' and 'Dale'. Short, simple, to the point. There it shall stand until Weir decided it no longer need be, or someone came along with fire magic. But who would do a thing like that?
"There, good as paper and pen I should think." Weir nods his head in agreement with himself, turning to look at Neva again. "If mother comes along, well, I should hope she shall see this. Looks just like you." He smiles warmly, before positioning himself at the fillies side. Head up, chin up, ready to begin their journey. "Best be off then my child."
My child. Because his heart was already brimming with love and care for the girl. Perhaps Weir had always been too much of a knight for his own good. Either way, she would always have a place with him, so long as she liked.
FIRST WE'LL MAKE SNOW ANGELS FOR TWO HOURS THEN WE'LL GO ICE SKATING
She is ecstatic when the stallion does indeed voice an idea. Her little brown eyes watch in wonder and curiosity as the temperature suddenly drops and snow begins to fall. In spite of her current state of worry, she can’t help but giggle in delight as a little ice foal suddenly sprouts out of the ground - it looks just like her! Her head cranes forward to peer at the ice-filly’s side as words, crawl across it. She can’t read it, not yet, but she gets the idea.
Finally she gets up on to her wobbly feet, first taking a moment to inspect the ice sculpture. It’s like nothing she’s ever seen - like looking in a mirror. It looks the exact same as herself. Mama would recognize it for sure. “It’s perfect! Thank you Mister Weir.” She hopes her Mama does come back and find it. Then maybe she, Mama and Mister Weir could all live in the Dale together!
She turns back to the roan, a genuine smile on her face now. “How did you do that?!” Mama had been cold like ice, and the stuff that sticks all over her is cold too, but making ice is something entirely different.
She takes a few steps towards Weir, swaying slightly as he mentions that they should be off. “Ok. What’s the Dale like?” She hopes the Dale isn’t too far away. She’s soooo tired, and sooo hungry. She can’t remember when she last ate. Must have been whenever she saw Mama last. She takes a few more shaky steps towards Weir, waiting for him to lead to way.
