"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
01-13-2016, 10:44 PM (This post was last modified: 01-14-2016, 12:03 AM by Amelia.)
Pale hooves gave off a rhythmic thud as the slender mare trotted down the small slope, creamy tail raised high in the air, audits pricked in interest. Ahead of her, lay a petite, lively stream, dappled by the shadows of the few weeping willows that made their resistance there. True to their name, the seemingly depressed trees draped over the stream, creating shade for the mare.
Smooth pebbles shifted underfoot as she reached the brook, the tips of her lightly feathered hocks dampening from the gushing liquid. Slender neck bent to lower her head to the stream, taking long, grateful gulps of the fresh water.
She was a lithe Dutch Warmblood mare, just over three and a half years old. So far, she had made it through half her third year without a stallion bothering her. She wasn't so sure it would stay that way, but either way, she was hopeful of what the future would bring. She was a deep black tobiano, the white seeming to take over her body. The Black bits of her base coat appeared around her left eye and ear, appearing again in a wide splotch upon her withers, and acting as socks on her two front feet. She had an odd patch of black on the back of her dock, expanding down her right haunch and joining a black stocking.
She was an abstract mare, mentally and physically. She played hard to get: defiant and determined to prove her point. But, at the same time, she protruded vulnerability and softness. Truth be told, she was soft inside, but barely let it show. She refused to be open, unless the horse she was opening up to was special to her. So far, there was no one that special.
Today, she heads to the field. Maybe it’ll be good for her to get out of the Jungle, for her to just do something a little different. Not that she has never come to the field, but she finds herself too busy in the Jungle more often than not to actually make it out and recruit. But today, finally, she has a few moments to herself and it seems like the best medicine. Throw herself into work, and try to forget all the thoughts that won’t let her rest.
It shouldn’t have affected her the way it did, that quest. Being dead shouldn’t change her. But slowly, creepingly, it has been anyway. But she won’t let it. She is still Riagan and Rayelle’s electric girl, gold and white on the outside and vibrant and alive and happy on the inside.
Every morning she wakes up and reminds herself of this. Today is no different as she sets on to the field on her own four feet. She doesn’t travel by foot all that often. Electric surfing is far more fun, but a nice run seems therapeutic. That’s the one thing about living in the Jungle – there’s not exactly much space for running about.
She picks up a canter and travels the distance between the Jungle and the Field, stopping now and again for a drink, slowing to a walk when she begins to tire. She gets to the field in decent time though, wandering through and looking for someone that catches her eye. It’s the mare beneath the willows that she finds herself drawn to. Not necessarily for any reason, but simply that she is, and Rhy figures she might as well follow that instinct.
“Hello,” she says, with a nicker of greeting when she’s within earshot of the mare. Rhy isn’t trying to sneak up on her or anything, so she tries to announce herself. Mostly because it seems polite, and not so much because she thinks the mare won’t notice her. “I’m Rhy, from the Jungle. Would you mind my asking your name?” She comes to a stop near the mare with a slight nod and an easy, friendly smile.
Not one to startle, the young mare quickly turned her delicate head around, peering through long lashes towards the stranger. The occasional drops of water few from her muzzle as she turned around, ears pricked in interest. She listened in polite silence to what the stranger had to say, pleased with her respectfulness. Maybe she would make a friend today. This mare seemed nice enough. She blinked, realizing she has to say something.
"My name is Sanatae Sveijarn, but I go by Sanatae or Sana." She replied, voice smooth like nectar as they glided from her mouth.
Sanatae cocked her head curiously. She was awfully curious about this stranger. She rested a hind hoof, a long tired breathe escaping her nostrils. She had been traveling for ages, searching for the right spot to settle down, but so far, there was no luck. She was an ordinary horse, no magic within her. But she hoped one day that could happen. If not her, her offspring. She smiled at the thought, her single brown eyes on the right side and blue eye on the left softening.
Rhy had been born with the electric that runs though her veins. A constant source of fear for her twin, who was shocked time and again in the womb. It is the reason it has taken them so long to even talk, for Kora to even stay in Rhy’s presence. It is the reason Rhy’s parents left her alone when she was only a year old. It is the reason Rhy never had very many friends growing up (she couldn’t entirely control the electric back then). It is honestly, the source of a lot of pain.
She can’t imagine life without the electric either. It’s part of her. The same way breathing is part of her. But if she really thinks about it, what good had the electric ever done her? Only Kratos, and he was gone.
Magic isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
“What a pretty name,” she says, meaning it. It’s unusual, but of course, so are many of the names in Beqanna. But it have a lovely sound, though Rhy will be sticking to Sana. That one she won’t butcher. “Guess I should cut to the chase,” she says, smiling though with a slight bit of laugher in her voice. “I’m from the Amazons, the all female kingdom in Beqanna. Though there are a few males, but they can’t hold rank or anything.”
She pauses, realizing this might all sound like gibberish. The mare probably isn’t from around here. “If you’d like a home, we’d be happy to have you. You don’t have to stay, if you decide it’s not for you. I can answer questions or tell you more about it, but I’ve always thought you have to see the Jungle before it snags your heart. But it has a way of doing that. Between the Jungle and the Sisterhood, there’s a lot to love.”
Sanatae smiled when the mare commented on her name. No one has said that before. She nodded slightly as she listened to her, intrigued by the kingdom. She had heard about the kingdoms before. The thought of being part of something bigger than herself sent a twinge of excitement through her. Plus, it was mostly mares, which gave her a sense of comfort. She had always felt more secure around mares rather than stallions.
But, what if she didn't like it?
As if the mare had read her mind, she told her that she could leave any time she'd like if the kingdom wasn't the right fit. She felt confident that it would, but you never know. Some things aren't always was they are said to be. But the stranger had no reason to lie. She nodded again, this time more noticeable.
"I would love to join this kingdom of yours. I have heard much about them, and they seem wonderful. Especially the Amazons." She nickered, head slightly cocked to one side in curiosity.
Upon speaking, Sanatae realized that the mare hadn't given a name for herself. Perhaps she didn't have a name? But that was ridiculous. A name is like a statement. A statement with a code within it. And, if you were able to decode those jumbles of words, then you are able to find out what the person is all about. She had to have a name!
"Do you have a name?" She asked, one ear pricking, the other trained off to the side in uncertainty.
