"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
The last time the ebony fae had been here it had been winter, but the winter of a different year. A part of her had hoped that the home she had found would become more than just a shelter from the cold. Some minor chaos had given Imke the impression that it was time to leave, and so she had. She had returned to this deep dark forest which had for months been her shelter while she reacquainted herself to the strange ways of the land she had been born in.
Her figure was still slight, though where previously she had been lanky and somewhat adolescent, she had grown into her femininity. Her bubblegum pink tresses and tail made her distinctive in the relative darkness under the shade of the trees. The air was chill, and the trees provided some shelter from the wind. Imke found herself dwelling on the only two individuals she had come to know with any sort of familiarity; Dahmer and Pesky. One was a dark stud with striking blue eyes, an attractive example of masculinity in her opinion. The other had been little more than a colt when she had stumbled upon him playing in the snow, tough he was old enough to be beginning to feel the urges of adulthood. She wondered what had happened to them, for she had seen neither in what seemed to be a long space of time.
She began to dig through the layer of snow, hoping to find some of the foliage beneath it intact enough to be edible. She had no idea of her next steps; perhaps head toward the field in a bid to find more company. This had not been her plan when she returned to Beqanna, she had hoped to find a place to belong, for with her unique features, finding a place to fit in was some times difficult.
07-03-2017, 08:40 PM (This post was last modified: 07-03-2017, 08:51 PM by kahzie.)
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The chill of winter is harsh against his scaled hide, but it is tolerable when there is no wind. It’s also infinitely more tolerable than battling the current in a winter sea, which is why Ivar is picking his way through the forest instead. The sun is hidden by the typical winter haze; there’s no telling what time of day it is. Early morning, late afternoon, Ivar doesn’t know.
He doesn’t pay much attention to time: a byproduct of youth and a total lack of responsibilities.
In the watery light, his matte black and pearlescent white scales do not differ much in apparent luster. His tangled mane and tail have dried stiffly from an attempt ocean cross; they hang at unflattering angles. Despite that (and the high boots of brown mud splashed up his pale legs) Ivar is still the most striking creature in the woods. It’s unnatural - the perfect line of his pale face, the pristine ridges of sinewy muscle on an otherwise narrow build.
As he walks through the snowy woods, some of the mud is cleared away. He realizes, belatedly, that he is blindly following the trail of another horse. By the time he looks up he can see her ahead of him. Pawing through the snow, the black mare with her pink mane is impossible to miss. He likes the brightness of it, the unique shade that he’s never seen before.
Always a fan of novelty, he approaches. He smiles, and there is still youth in the way his brown eyes dance merrily. They’re half-hidden by the corded mass of his forelock, but Ivar quickly tosses it aside to better see the mare in front of him. Stopped a comfortable distance from her, Ivar makes a clear and friendly attempt to not invade her personal space.
“If you’re looking for a good meal,” he says, with perfect innocence and perfect looks, “I’d be glad to show you some places where it might be easier to find.”
The sound of snow under hoof alerted the mare that someone was approaching and caused her to cease her search for sustenance. She turned her elegantly carved head toward the new comer, and did her best to hide her surprise. Despite being a unique figure herself she was not prepared for the scaled behemoth who stopped a respectful distance from her flank. His words were cordial enough, if a little cocky in a callow sort of way. "Hold on there, half-pint, offering me a meal before I even know your name. I think you're getting ahead of yourself here." Imke responded, her dulcet tone was amused, despite her words being an admonishment. The fae portrayed a coquettish smile to match her tone. She did not want to let on just how empty her stomach felt at the moment - didn't wan to show weakness. "I am Imke, formerly of Tephra I suppose. And you are?"
Her dark eyes were naturally drawn to the opalescent quality of his scale; the way the light shifted as the branches of the above trees interrupted it's bath to his body played a magical game with the coloring. She chose to ignore his mud covered aspects, she was aware tat not all spent as much time grooming and trying to look presentable as she did. "Do you live around here?" She asked, openly curious. Did he simply know the best places in the forest to find food or was he hinting at something more?
Imke
Carved from marble, smoother than the storm
OOC: I interpret your post that Ivar is literally covered in dragon scales yeah? :O
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The tone of her admonishment makes him smile. Ivar in unaccustomed to having his motives questioned, but he is not offended. If anything, it’s refreshing, intriguing. Equally intriguing is her coquettish smile, and the way his teenage brain interprets her statement about ‘getting ahead of himself’ as meaning there might be somewhere to get at all.
“I’m Ivar,” he tells her, watching as her eyes rove over the smooth scaling across his body. The scales had come with maturity, appearing in quick-growing patches that soon overtook the perfectly normal horse hide. It’s from his parents, he knows, though both of them seem able to control whether they are haired or sleek. Ivar, on the other hand, is permanently scaled.
“I live in Sylva,” he tells her, “but I know that if you go north - toward the river – the trees are thick enough that snow can’t reach the ground. There’s plenty to eat there.” There’s nothing dishonest in what he has to say; there really is better grazing closer to the river. Ivar isn’t quite sure she’ll trust him though. He doesn’t blame her – he’s just a stranger in the woods.
“Though if you’re looking for something to replace Tephra in addition to a meal, I might be able to help you there as well.”
The lady listened to his words with interest. When she had first found her way home to Beqanna the forest and the river had been her shelters, where she hid while she learned the lay of the land as best she could from those who bothered to speak with her. Finding her way to Tephra had been purely a chance meeting with a member of that herd. She now tried to recall what she had heard of Sylva - a rather large area that was in somewhat perpetual autumn. Autumn colours did not do well with her pink tresses; but that was a paltry reason to consider a herd not worth her time. She rolled the idea over in her head - interpreting his mention of Sylva and then of possibly having a better deal than just heading north for food as being connected.
Ivar was an interesting name, not one she had heard in her travels, but that was not surprising, considering his apparent age - which she could only place in the general area of young. He was too large a specimen to easily gauge. His scaling made it difficult to determine his general health, she could not detect any patchiness, she assumed shining scales must be the equivalent of a full, healthy coat.
"Perhaps we can talk more about this place you come from?" The fae said as she gave up her digging and began to move northward, a movement of her elegantly made head indicated she wished him to accompany her - just in case her question hadn't been enough of an invitation. "What brings you to this neck of the woods, so deep in the winter?" Her tone was pleasant, though the question was just to keep the silence at bay. Imke did not care for silence when she had company. She did not really care for silence at all. When alone could be heard humming or even talking to herself, though she had not been doing so when Ivar approached - for which she was thankful. Sometimes others did not take kindly to those who spoke to themselves, thinking them deranged.
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
With his third birthday approaching, Ivar is finally beginning to understand a previous mystery. He’d never been able to understand why so many horses left their homes with adulthood. But as he becomes more of a stallion and less of a colt, he has begun to see. Sylva is a wonderful territory, full of natural beauty and a friendly populace…but there is so much more to the world beyond its borders. While his parents reside there, he knows that he will always find his way back, but the piebald stallion has been considering resting his head elsewhere.
Exactly where that place will be, he’s not yet decided.
Each of land he has visited have their own appeal; it’s far easier to strike them off his list than it is to choose a single one. Tephra is too sulpherous – he liked the jungle, but the volcano was too unpredictable for a creature that loves cool water. Nerine is a land of women, and while there is appeal in the life of a gladiator he might have there, Ivar would rather not label himself so quickly. Taiga and Ischia are most appealing for the lavender-haired mares that live there; his young machismo is strong enough that he’s sure he can convince Azar and Kylin to leave their homelands. The lake of Hyaline is his favorite, but the term limit on age keeps him wary – he’d rather not settle in a home only to be forced to leave at a certain age.
That leaves only Loess, he knows, but Ivar is not sure where he stands with their queen, and if Heda would want him there with those he’d wish to bring.
Imke asks about Sylva and Ivar smiles – both at her question and her willingness to follow him to better grazing. He leads the way, cognizant of the trail even under the thick layer of snow.
“What would you like to know about Sylva?” He asks, “It’s a large kingdom, mostly forest, with trees that keep their autumn leaves year round. It never gets too cold or too hot. Politically, it’s allied with Nerine and Hyaline, though most of the residents don’t concern themselves with climbing ranks like they did in the Old Beqanna – or so I hear.” He grins, because he had obviously never experienced the Old Beqanna. This New Beqanna is all that he has ever known, with its relaxed atmosphere and lack of warfare and bloodshed.
“I like to explore,” Ivar says in reply to her second question. “I have since I was a child. There is so much to see, so many others to meet.”
