"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
Deep down Drengr knew this would be the answer. Deep down he knew that his mother would never return for him. It wasn't a mistake, ending up in this field. It was no more a mistake than his birth or his conception. Drengr knew with surprising reality that she would never return for him, and that he'd soon forget what she looked like. A blur of wings and black and furrowed brow. The childish boy that he was - he clung to hope.
It was extinguished quickly by the gathering hoard of horses. A new stallion approaches and confirms any suspicion he has. Despite knowing these words Drengr cannot stop the slow, steady leaking of tears from his eyes. He cannot quite close the hole in his chest that threatens to swallow him whole.
"My name means warrior," he offers, his voice choked but stronger than before. He is using all of his child-like reserve to pull himself together. But how much strength does a child truly have? What is offered to him, and Drengr is offered very little.
"I need...I need a home," he says. "I need a home, then." Again, this time stronger, with more promise. "Where should I go?" His gaze, still leaking those tears in their slow, steady procession, hop from one horse to the other.
He doesn’t blame the boy for being sad. Perhaps Zale would have been sad too, but he’d be dropped into the middle of a quest with no time to be sad. It was move on, or die. That was the life he knew and understood from the moment he was old enough to walk on his own. Actually, he wasn’t even old enough, he just happened to have a magical mother who sort of cheated on that one.
Shatter is the one who comforts the boy. Zale wouldn’t even know how, even if it were his place to do so. But it’d probably be weird coming from Zale anyway, not much past being a grown adult himself. Zilpah would know what to do though. She was so good with her animals, that Zale couldn’t imagine her not being good with children. Yael too, who always knew everything (perks of being a magician), and had always and would always take care of the residents of the Deserts.
It took him a long time find home, but he knows now that he has. That he doesn’t want to go anywhere else. Though he grew up as a nomad, without help, without guidance. He stumbled on his own home one day, and it was enough.
“The Deserts is my home, and if you want, it could be your home too,” he says. It seems like enough in some ways to say no more, but at the same time, he thinks perhaps he should. “There are very nice horses there, but also skilled and powerful ones. Good teachers, if you want to be a warrior. But you can do others things too. You can come and always leave, if you don’t like it.” He falls silent, because he could keep going, but he doesn’t want to say too much.
