paint it black; revol

[Lior]

dark son of gunsynd

His cave is not far off from the meadow. Lior is fortunate have found shelter so close to his source of nourishment for it helps to feed his seclusion. The dampness of the cave clings to his skin, weaving and tangling in the strands of his mane. It only seems to accentuate the darkness of his pelt and brighten the liquid mercury of his eyes. Large feathered feet plod along with heavy thuds while he grazes under the orange glow of a setting summer sun. He takes no notice to the lightening bugs that blink slowly around him like fairy lights. In fact, the stallion takes little notice to much for he is alone and quite content with the responsibility of one. No herd. No home. No worries. The first of the evening stars begin to wink into existence. A slow ghostly 'hoo' of owls call across to one another as they wake from their slumber. Small calls of the whip-o-will can be heard not far from where the tar stallion fed. Incisors clip at a small bit of grass before he lifts his skull in a slow motion, jaw still chewing as he catches an unknown scent not far off from where he stood. Lids fall over the ash of his eyes before lifting again with unchanging features. The meadow brought forth many walks of life at different times of day and this would be no different. Whatever was out there in the very fringes of darkness, watching him, would emerge eventually. LIOR

[Revol]

Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes.

Revol’s heart still aches the next morning, waking from a cozy little dream where she was nestled up against her grumpy lover’s side and he was playing with her mane. Well, more accurately, she wakes with a sigh and a smile, turning to nuzzle her--oh. Right, no, of course he isn’t there. She’s never woken beside him, and that isn’t about to change now that he’s made it perfectly clear they’re through. It’s then that her heart aches, quiet yearning and sorrow washing over her in a wave fit to drown in.

She draws in a deep breath, rising to look around at the forest she’s grown rather fond of. Every time she bumped into her...ex (she’s never had an ex-anything before, and the sound of the word echoing through her head is unsettling…) was here in the forest, including their most recent, rather disastrous encounter. And she gave him her word that she’d try not to run into him again.

So with a pang of regret joining that quiet, lonely ache, she leaves the forest behind, setting her wandering feet instead toward the meadow where she’s spent far less time. It’s lovely enough too, in a more open and airy sort of way. And if her heart misses the close press of tree trunks, well, the feeling will fade in time. Or she’ll find another forest, one with maybe a few less dangerous parts that lash out and tear at her chest and settle inside like a boulder weighing her down with sadness.

The trek takes longer than perhaps it needs to, but Revol has never been one to take the most direct route when a roundabout way could be more scenic. So it’s not until night begins to fall again that she finds herself roving through the vast expanse of the meadow, watching fireflies flash their random blinking lights to attract what she never really wanted, a mate. She snorts, rolling her eyes. Like fireflies mate for life. They come together just like she and her nameless lover had, though probably with less fire and passion and more cool practicality. Although, who is she to judge, or to say their coupling isn’t as feral and intense and exquisite as--ugh.

She tosses her head as if to chase away the bugs that have drawn her thoughts back to a subject best forgotten, and walks on. Thinking only of the last dying rays of sunlight stretching out to stain the horizon a fading orange, and not of heat in amber eyes being replaced with disgust. So firmly is she focused on the sunset and not thinking of other things, it’s no wonder that she once again walks right into a solid object far too warm to be a tree. Groaning, she scrambles back a step, keeping her eyes closed for a moment to offer up a silent prayer. Anyone but him.

And when she opens them, she finds her plea has been heard. No amber eyes set in a far too familiar (and oh, not familiar enough) face stare her down, grumpy and glaring and daring her to try her feminine wiles on him one more time and see how hard he can bite. No, the eyes watching her are the light grey of clouds lit from behind by sunlight, and his face is black as the sky will be all too soon. “Oh!” she breathes, startled by bumping into someone again, and less than a day after her last collision. Though that one had hardly been her fault. “I’m sorry, I...well, I’d say I’m not always so clumsy, but I do seem to be making rather a habit of this sort of thing. My name is Revol.”

Lonely water, won't you let us wander?

[Lior]

dark son of gunsynd

The pewter that glimmers in the depths of his eyes remain unflinching, watching when the young mare crashes into him. Well perhaps not crash, but more so colliding. Lior finds that as of lately his orbit has been drawing more and more horses to him. Does he regret his presence in Beqanna? No. For now he has known more faces and more names than he had ever had. No longer must he hide his face from the moonlight. And so another name is added to the list in his head. She is delicate but not in a fragile way. She is not a wax butterfly nor a crystal flower. She is wounded by something...though Lior can see no marks across her ruddy hide or the silver mask that encompasses her feminine features. Lior does steal her eyes, holding them as her watches her lips part to offer an apology. The dark stallion, smelling of earth and water, says nothing in return but simply grunts with a twisted frown. Long tangled tendrils of hair drip down the thickness of his neck, pushed to the right of his eyes. "Revol." It is all he says, her name grinding like glacier and granite in the darkness of his throat. Nostrils expand as he grasps her scent and analyzes it. Scent can tell so much about a horse, of their home...their mate...their nature. The hint of masculine pheromones seem to linger on her skin but they are faint. She gives off no inclination of a home but by her rebuttal, Lior can read that she does not come from a heathen herd but is in fact intelligent enough to admit fault where it is due. One heavily feathered hoof snakes out to draw him closer as he holds her eyes for a moment longer before he breaks the capture. "Lior." The return of his own name tastes foreign on his tongue. "What brings you to the meadow, Revol?" The question is an inquiry, nothing more. It is not malicious or coy but blunt and forward. The stallion flickers a lobe forward as he listens for a reply in the pool of moonshine that flooded around them at their feet. LIOR

[Revol]

Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes.

He watches, holding her gaze and saying nothing for a long moment. And Revol’s blue eyes narrow infinitesimally. By all that once was holy, if he withholds his name she’s going to give up on males entirely. Impossible, the lot of them. He takes a step closer, grey eyes intense as he stares into her, studying her as though he’s trying to read her life story in her eyes. But it’s not until he speaks his name that she relaxes, a smile slowly spreading across her face.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lior,” she replies, and now that he’s not quite a stranger, she gives into the urge to give him a quick once-over. Black as the sky on a moonless winter night, well-built in an elegantly handsome sort of way. Long hair spills down his thickly muscled neck. The feathering on his lower legs is a bit lighter than hers, the weight and texture of it accenting the strength of his limbs.

No markings mar that perfect black, no stars scattered across the night sky canvas of his coat, only his pale grey eyes staring into hers as he asks what brings her here. Tilting her head, she raises a hoof and glances down at it. “Wandering feet,” she answers, and it’s half true. Almost, anyhow. With a sigh and a shrug, she adds, “and a bit of a bruised heart.” Not broken. It might ache, it might feel heavy and hurt like it had never hurt before, but she wouldn’t let it be broken. Not over something that had clearly been nothing to...well, to him anyhow.

“What about you?” she asks, eager to change the subject and distract herself from amber eyes, determined not to see them filling with disgust again. It’s over, it’s done, and there’s no use dwelling on it. Best to find something else to occupy her attention. “What brings you here?”

Lonely water, won't you let us wander?

[Lior]

dark son of gunsynd

If the mare had spoken aloud the observations of his features, well, Lior would have possibly blushed (if horses could). He had never classified himself as handsome. He was exactly who he was...a damaged replica of the stallion who had made him (and broken him) into his image. Gunsynd. The sound of his name on her tongue sounds feminine and strong. She reflects her strength in the way she stands and holds her head without a curtain of protection. Lior does not smile or reflect much of any emotion. It was his nature to remain neutral, stoic. But as in turn he allows the pewter of his gaze to flicker over the curves of her form and back to the silver tapered muzzle. She is a fine creature but what was most appealing in the organ between her ears. Her answer to his question was something different, something he wasn't expecting and Lior lets out a small bark of laughter that forces past his lips. A bit of surprise on his face is sure to mirror hers but it fades quickly when she finished her explanation. Lior does not understand the heart and the trusting of it to another keeper. But to be polite, he shifts his features to be more downward...something of makeshift sympathy. Lior witnesses the shift in conversation, a deflection. She moves her focus back to him and returns her own question of his own reasoning for being in the meadow. "I live here-" He speaks low but firmly with his matter-of-fact tone, "-well, there." The stallion flicks his skull a bit farther up the base of the mountain to his own bit of Beqanna. A dark but cozy cave of his own. Lior's attention returns to Revol with a much more pleasant gaze as he relaxes a bit around her. She seems like an interesting enough mare fit for a pass or two of conversation...Lior had not realized how much he had missed having a decent, normal conversation with another. "Tell me of this bruised heart, Revol." The tones are like a low rumble of thunder in the distance, closing the space between them. Sometimes it was easier to talk to a perfect stranger than any one else and Lior was quite alert with both ears pricked towards the masked mare. LIOR

[Revol]

Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes.

Ah, she made him laugh! Revol’s blue eyes sparkle as she watches surprise wash over Lior’s face, and she shrugs off the sympathy in his expression when she makes mention of her heart. He indulges her deflection and nods in the general direction of the place he calls home. She tilts her head, following the gesture, and asks, “You have that specific a place where you live? How is that, is it nice, or does it get a bit dull after a while always coming back to the same spot?”

Having never experienced home as anything more specific than an inclination to wander more in the Forest than elsewhere, she ponders the idea briefly. Maybe home would be nice, if it meant somewhere to come back to, where you could be wrapped up in warmth and love and the familiar touch of someone who wanted to be by your side. But alone, wandering seems more appealing. With no one relying on her to be easy to locate, there’s no need to stay in one place, right?

She’s about to ask him what his home is like - perhaps ask if he’d show her around, even, as she’s never really seen a home before - when he guides the subject back to her. And perhaps that’s for the best. He might not appreciate the invasion of privacy, after all. But the topic isn’t one she’s much inclined to dwell on, so she sighs and asks, “Must I?” Ah, but he’s been kind, and even generous enough to actually tell her his damn name unlike some people, so she shrugs.

“It’s not a big deal,” she insists, though it still feels like a heavy weight in the middle of her chest. “There was a guy. I thought there was something there. Maybe not a big, life-changing forever kind of something, but at least...well, but I was wrong, and he made it quite clear that whatever there was between us is over. He doesn’t want a mate, but he doesn’t want anything less either, and my suggestion that it didn’t have to be all or nothing...well, the idea didn’t exactly appeal to him. So. I left the Forest so I wouldn’t bump into him again. As you can see, I have a habit of making that far too literal, and to be honest I was just really glad at least this time I bumped into you. That’s really all there is to tell.”

Lonely water, won't you let us wander?

[Lior]

And I don't want the world to see me

He listens to her voice as it's notes fluctuate rhythmically, guiding him along a smooth and speedy flow. The gray that encased his sight listens closely as the topic drifts from him and then back to her. Lior is nothing more than a simple stallion who bears the burden of solitude. He relishes in the quiet of his small cave, the way the 'drip-drip-drip' comes from deep within her like a steady heartbeat. This sound lulls him in the storms, the warmth of moss and grass sprigs embracing him through the night.

Lior wants to wince when she murmurs her casual distaste for his inquiry. Instead, he remains stoic and motionless (save the dilation of his nostrils and the fall of dark lashes). Lior observes her shift in demeanor and he considers how to offer comfort but the action falls short of a simple but firm 'tap-tap' on her shoulder. The stallion pulls back to watch her face...reading for signs of disapproval. Either way, Lior was not hurt. Some mares insist upon vast space while others have snuggled quiet violently against his skin but he was not one to pass judgement and would not start today.

With an inhale of chilled autumn air, he clears his mind before abruptly exhaling in a sigh. There is a cross of confusion as he is not sure what to say so instead he looks over his shoulder towards the mouth of his cave and then back to the red woman. "It's not so bad." The dark stallion rumbles low and gravely in an effort of reaching the mare through voice. Lior does not know love nor has he ever attempted to but he still tries for the sake of the silver masked mare.

'cause I don't think they'd understand.