"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
Of all the places in this land, why did she have to be chased here? Stupid question really; those horses figured that she wouldn't survive, not in a land like this. The air itself felt like the boiling sun, causing her fur to clump together as sweat covered her body.
Iona was tired, hungry, thirsty, in pain, and everything in between. What had happened that led to this? Last she remembered, she was grazing calmly in some of the grassy fields of this land. And then those stallions showed up. Horses that, for whatever reason, wanted her dead. She didn't even know what she'd done to deserve it.
Maybe they were old enemies of her father, who wanted the last of his bloodline gone? Considering how many horses had hated him, according to Iona's mother, it wouldn't have surprised the chocolate flaxen mare.
When those stallions had set upon her, chasing her down, she'd had little time to get away. Sadly, two of them were faster than her, and caught up within minutes. They'd held her in place, showed her the power and strength behind their teeth and hooves before the others had arrived to do the same.
In other words, she was feeling pretty banged up. She had several bite marks and hoof imprints on her neck, a bloody cut on her cheek from where she'd been kicked, and several markings of both kinds littering her abdomen and hindquarters. None of these wounds were fatal, surprisingly enough given how much they hurt.
Iona was a clever horse; pretty much the only reason she was alive. When the horses were beating her, she'd decided to play like she'd been unconscious. These had seemed like the kind of horses that wanted her dead, wanted to see the light leave her eyes as she took her last breath. She got that impression from the murderous glint in the eyes of the black stallion that had been leading the charge. They'd left her alone until she came to, going about their own business and watching her carefully.
In the form of a mistake, all of them had fallen asleep, possibly tired from hunting her down or beating her. Whatever the case, Iona hadn't cared one bit. When she woke, all the horses were asleep. She got up, ran away, and did not look back. She had been too scared that they had found out her trick and were chasing her again.
Within a day, they had figured it out, and went after her. Iona did not pay attention to where she was going, only that it was getting hotter the farther she ran. Then, when she realized the horses had stopped chasing her, she quickly understood.
She'd run right to her death, to put it simply.
In this dry, harsh environment, Iona was not the best equipped to survive right now. She'd lived in placed like this, but not in her current state. Right now, all she could think about was finding water and a shady place to lick her wounds.
Iona did not know what time of the day it was, or how many days she'd been walking. She only came back to the present when she saw it in the distance. A large lake, an oasis more likely, sitting right there in the middle of the dunes. A large tree was beside it, as well as patches of grass and bushes.
For some reason, the mare doubted that it was real, but the closer she got, and the more she smelled, she realized her mind was not playing tricks. The mare walked, being it was the most she could do without much pain, over to the oasis, lowering her head and quenching her thirst in large gulps of the fresh liquid. It would take more than that to ease her, but Iona knew she couldn't drink too much right now, or she may end up sick. Instead, she would rest, and then drink more later.
The mare made her way over to the large tree. It didn't have a whole lot of shade, but just enough that it would protect her from the sun while she rested and healed. Once she was in the shade, Iona curled her legs under her body and laid down, stretching out her neck, given she couldn't curl it in or else the wounds would hurt.
Thanking whatever forces up there had led her to this water, the mare closed her eyes, prepared for a nice rest after that harrowing escape.
OOC: I did read that horses could walk into a kingdom instead of being recruited in the Field, so I hope that was okay. If it's not allowed here, feel free to let me know so I can delete my post.
Burn slow, burning up the back wall Long roads, where the city meets the sky
As a child literally birthed from the mouth of the sand that composed this arid kingdom, Volcan had no qualms with the dastardly heat of the place. She was born from it, incubated in it until her magical overseer had felt the need to hatch the poor orphan; and now, she did not fear it. Had she entered the kingdom as this mare did, beaten and malnourished as she is, perhaps her opinion on the blistering sun would be a little different; but they both of their lots in life, and perhaps that is how it is meant to be.
The oasis the foreign mare plops herself down in happens to be a smaller one, one largely unfrequented by Desertlings. Most Desterlings, that is. The gangly yearling, head held proudly aloft an all too skinny neck, did not deem the small piece of paradise below her. Not when a stranger happened to be within it, anyways.
And she has a duty to this kingdom, as adopted daughter of the king - or something like that. It might not be the clearest lot, but it is with this lot that Volcan is very, very content.
Nostrils flaring at the scent of foreigner, Volcan immediately slips into a lope - one that she has been mastering of late, considering that not long ago, her spindly legs would fly all over the place instead of doing their proper job. Stupid limbs, she would curse. Today, all works out in decent harmony.
Slowing, and eventually halting just in front of the napping mare’s nose, Volcan surverys the woman’s body, regardless of whether she wakes or not. They are a similar colour, though Volcan’s roaned body is significantly lighter - sunbleached, as it were. Har, har. Aside from their smokey pelts, however, some things were clearly not in order.
The mare had been beaten!
Frowning, Volcan addresses the mare, noting how it feels strange to speak down to someone, considering her currently small stature. “Who has done this to you? Did they follow you here?” Her slivered eyes go to the horizon. “Additionally, are you okay?” A piercing gaze lands back on the mare, but not an unkind on. “There are horses here who can heal you.” The smoke-girl nods in curt affirmation of this fact, and continues.
“I am Volcan. And you are?”
This is not the end, this is just the world Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl
If Iona hadn't been so tired and aching from the beating she'd recently received, the mare would've sprung to her hooves and raced off from the arrival of this new horse. Sadly, she had no motivation to go anywhere. Right now, all she wanted to do was nap, but considering this horse was speaking to her, that proved to be impossible.
The chocolate flaxen mare weakly lifted her head, looking toward the sound of the voice. She had a base coat color not that far off from Iona's shading, but it was off-set with the roan speckling she had. Based on her stature and conformation, she couldn't have been more than a year old, a year and a half maximum if that was the case.
Iona listened quietly as the filly went on to ask who had done this and if Iona herself was okay. The mare would've responded, but she was still trying to process exactly what the filly had said. She was so tired and dizzy from the heat that, in terms of hearing, it felt like someone had stuffed a bunch of rabbit fur in her ears to block out the sound. She could still hear, but it was greatly muffled, so she had to take a moment to go over everything the filly had said.
Once she got the gist, the chocolate flaxen mare sighed, laying her head back down as she spoke up, her voice raspy and cracked from her parched throat, "My... name's... Iona. Some... stallions chased me... out here... said... I deserved it... because... I wouldn't accept any offers... to join their bands... they've... they're already... gone..."
For her last statement, she glanced at the filly, "Heal...? What... do you... mean?"
Burn slow, burning up the back wall Long roads, where the city meets the sky
Volcan’s brow furrows when the flaxen mare does not stand; partially because her code of conduct is mildly affronted at this slight breach of manners, but mostly because it must mean that the woman is too physically injured to stand at all. Both are admittedly terrible things, but for now, the girl allows her first problem to dissolve completely.
Not knowing whether to be scared or angry when the mare fails to reply in any manner of speed, Volcan just keeps staring down at her, slivered eyes uncannily focused. The filly floats between both emotions, completely out of her wits - what if this mare is, like, dying? Volcan can’t do anything if that’s the case. And then maybe she would be framed with murder! We couldn’t have that.
No, no, calm down. Daddy will believe your side of the story. Just keep your damn head, little girl.
Just as her mental pep talk draws to an end, the beached horse - I am a pun god - fancies it time to grace Volcan with a response. A long-winded one at that, but the filly can’t exactly blame her - she wouldn’t be able to speak too fast with wounds like that, either.
“Hmph. Well, if they ever return, identify them and they will be taken care of. We don’t appreciate brutality here.” Flicking her tail, Volcan wonders whether she ought to explain exactly where ‘here’ is, but Iona beats her to the next wave of conversation.
And it’s a rather obscure one, at that; Volcan frowns in great confusion, but realization dawns on her handsome features not too long after. This mare is clearly not from here; she doesn’t… know. About any of it.
“Well, it’s nothing you need to worry about right now anyway, as I can’t get any one’s attention from where we are, never mind someone with healing capabilities.” Although Volcan usually met problems head on, if she expected this woman to live, she probably shouldn’t make her faint by telling her about things like magic, healing, shape shifting, or telekinesis, which she herself has. She should definitely be healed before receiving that particular blow.
“Do you feel well enough to stand, Iona? You ought to drink, and laying down in your state will only make things harder for you later.”
This is not the end, this is just the world Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl
Iona was a bit perplexed as Volcan did not reveal much in response to her question about healing. Instead, she just advised the mare to identify the stallions if they ever came anywhere near here, and that she shouldn't be laying down in her condition. Iona did suppose that, based on Volcan's words, she would have gotten someone to help, but perhaps they were quite far away from any other horses. That did make sense; this place seemed rather barren after all.
When Volcan questioned if she could stand, that she should drink, Iona gave her body a once-over. Could she manage to stand so soon, after just having laid down to rest? She thought so, but she could feel the aching in her muscles returning at such a thought. Well, what harm was it to try, even if her body would be screaming in agony as a response.
Instead of offering a verbal response to Volcan, Iona curled her legs under her, preparing to stand. When she took in a breath, she placed her hind legs out in front of her body. Throwing her weight forward onto them, she tried to get her back legs to take her weight, but they collapsed under her, clearly not having it. The mare attempted this several times before, finally, she was able to get to her hooves, her teeth practically grinding against each other as she bit back the pain. The sweat on her body from the running, and the heat, made her bleeding wounds sting as it dripped down her dark coat, making it appear several shades deeper than normal.
After finally getting to her hooves, Iona's tired eyes looked over at Volcan, "Is there somewhere else in mind your link is better than this? Are their other water sources around? Others living here besides you?" Iona questioned as she slowly limped her way over to the oasis for a drink. She really couldn't imagine anyone else living here, but that wasn't her problem. All she could think about for now was getting her thirst to go away.
Pain is one of the states of being that Yael quickly picks up on; before her magic, when she was just the Ambassador, she had empathy. It is one of her strongest suits - far more so than battle magic.
The gold and silver consort feels Iona as she crosses the Desert's border, and after she ascertains that the mare isn't in any immediate danger, she finishes her current task before turning to the next one. In that time, it seems that Volcan, the little girl she'd saved by way of camel, has found the stranger. Hmmm... Well isn't that interesting? Time to see what the girl is like when no one is watching.
Yael hasn't had much personal interaction with the telekinetic, as she seemed far more attached to Van than any of the other orphans (really, she couldn't blame the filly for that - the possessiveness comes out in Yael too), and he seemed to have a handle on the situation, so she didn't interfere. Kabe and Munroe and Qatar and Eliora were more hers than Vans... She could share the children. The magician renders herself invisible and insoluble, floating towards the duo on a gust from the north; choosing not to reveal herself until necessary. Volcan is only partly misinformed - anyone in the Desert could call for help and she would answer. A stranger and a yearling are no different.
Finally, Iona rises and Yael decides that this is a good time to show herself, materializing on the other side of the pool of crystal clear water. Her golden coat is brilliant in the sunlight, but the voice that reaches across the water to them is sweet and low and comforting. "I cahn xeal you, eef you vant," she says to the brown mare. "I ahm Yael, vhat ees your name, dear?"
She won't move to touch the mare until she gets her permission, after all, for all Yael knows, the stranger is terrified of horses with wings and magical powers.
Iona, who was now at the edge of the oasis, lowered her head, having another long drink. It felt just as good as the last one, doing wonders for her parched throat. As the ripples spread through the water, she thought that she spotted something in the reflection. Looking up while a voice called out to her, Iona was surprised to see another mare standing on the other side of the oasis. Had she been there the entire time? The flaxen could've sworn that she wasn't there earlier when she'd first arrived.
She had a bright golden pelt, and her voice was calm, soft, as if trying to comfort the flaxen mare. Iona could see from here that the golden mare also had a set of wings on her back, and took a step in reverse as a result, a bit taken aback by that fact.
"My name's... my name's Iona. Y-you say you can heal me?"
Having never encountered Yael one on one, Volcan has no true point of reference for her character; on the contrary, she remembers that the golden woman saved her life the day she was born. So she is not without suppositions as to the Queen Consort's moral affiliations, but Volcan is not one to assume, not verbally, at least. It would not be good to get on the wrong side of the mare who is, by all technicality, her mother - and a powerful mother she is.
Volcan starts silently at Yael's materialization, but steadies herself just as quickly, offering a low bow in respectful recognition of the woman. During her interaction with Iona, Volcan allows herself to drift into the background of the conversation, studying both mares through slivered eyes. When a moment of quiet passes between the assembled group, however, the intelligent filly steps forward once more.
"The Queen Consort has magic, Iona." Seeing that the mare is up and standing, Volcan figures that delivering the blow of Beqanna's reality now is better than never. "Your wounds will be repaired, and it won't hurt. You just need to give consent." Fading once more into the background, Volcan locks eyes with Yael, wondering whether she has over stepped her bounds, or whether she ought to have addressed the mare as Mother instead of the Queen Consort. Despite all her magically begotten maturity, there seems to be some situations that the young girl simply cannot get out of cleanly.
Iona listened as Volcan explained what the Queen was capable of. At first, Iona did not trust her, but at the same time, she did wish for these wounds to go away, for the pain to disappear. Even if she owed these horses a debt afterwards, fine. For right now, she'd do what she could to have her wounds healed.
Iona turned her head to look at the Queen, "I'm not sure how real your abilities are... but if you can heal me, then, I guess there's only one way to find out. I would appreciate some help."
On a scale of 1 to 10, Yael is about a 4 on the ‘looks like a magical freak of nature, thanks to B’kanna’s magic.’ Sure, she’s all sorts of unnaturally shiney, and has a pair of fluffy, gilded wings, but she also isn’t part moth or snake, she doesn’t have three horns sprouting down her face, and she doesn’t have scales or leopard spots. In the grand scheme of things, Yael is quite tame. At least on the surface.
She continues to smile patiently, while the situation is explained to Iona. Let Volcan do the explaining, since she seemed to have charge of the situation. Yael is only here to offer relief, if it is wanted. She can, however, show Iona just exactly what Volcan is talking about - sometimes a little demonstration is helpful. She chuckles and presses a single hoof deeper into the sand, and then pulls it away. As she does, a beautiful white and violet Cada Lily sprouts from the sand - and impossible thing, even by the oasis. “T’ey are very real, ahnd free to any xoo might need eet. Ze Desert is a refuge. Ve never turn t’ose avay xoo need xelp.”
Iona gives her assent, and Yael circles the oasis to come to their side. She could do it from afar, but it just… doesn’t seem right to do something so invasive from over there. Not when the patient is a slightly skittish stranger. The golden mare extends her nose to the bite marks on Iona’s neck and touches them ever so gently. She might feel warmth flooding through her, but it shouldn’t be more than the type of warmth that eases aches and pains. Inflammation is quelled and split flesh knit back together. She may have scars, but as far as Yael is concerned, it is the mark of a life well lived. After a couple of moments, Yael pulls away and examines her handiwork. “Xow does t’at feel, dear? Any better?”
