"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
07-08-2015, 01:51 PM (This post was last modified: 07-08-2015, 01:51 PM by Quorra.)
perhaps we've forgotten that we are still pioneers
and we've barely begun
Mother and daughter spend their first precious few days alone together in the meadow, tranquil and calm. In all that time, they barely see another soul. Quorra grazes and recuperates her strength, Anjou suckles greedily and grows strong. The more time the buckskin mare spends with her daughter, the happier she is to watch her thrive. Where at first there was doubt and fear, now replaced by a tentative optimism and confidence.
However, the time had come. At first light and on her fourth day, Anjou and her mother ventured out of the meadow and into the field. It looked much the same to the filly, who didn't know much better, because it might as well have been the same place. They both had grass, they both seemed boring enough. That was until she spied the other horses in the distance and perked up her ears, standing to attention and watching them with an intense curiosity. "Who are they mother?" she questions, turning her head to spy up at her dam.
"I don't know, but I'm sure we shall soon. They will come to offer us a home," Quorra explained, staring down at her daughter with loving, motherly eyes. She then turned to look out at the other horses off in the distance, hoping she had been right. Hoping that one of them would come along to give herself and her daughter a home. Covet, perhaps, might come back to reclaim his daughter. Or another horse with a different plan.
Whatever happened, they wouldn't be going back to the meadow again tonight.
The Dale was quiet. So very quiet. The days had begun to grow warm, the meadows bursting with new life, filling the lands with spring blossoms. All,save the small herd, was counting it's blessings as the land was reborn. That just would not do for Weir.
Though the company in the Dale was sparse, the quality made up for it. At least to Weir it did. However, Kingdoms could not thrive without occupants, without members to make it strong. No, the Dale would not prosper in its current state, and Weir had a mind to change that. Besides, he had given the lad his word. He had said he would help, now, rules may be meant to be broken.A man's word was not.
The roan looked over each hopeful face, his amber eyes shining in a childlike amusement. Passing over a few whom he didn't think would be a good match, the Dale was a calm and peaceful place. He intended to keep it that way too. Some gave off a foreboding air, others eyed him hungrily, attempting their best sultry glare.
He didnt want or need this kind of company, and he thought the Dale might agree with his decision.
Finally he took in the sight of two forms, side by side. If he were to take an educated guess, he thought that his orbs fell upon a mother and child. They looked hopeful, as did most of the others, but Weir really did love children. Children were the future, and bringing in some new blood, well, something just told him it was right.
He approaches them slowly, as he often approaches things, a gentle smile placed on his maw. "Hello there, pleasure, pleasure. My name is Weir, I've just come from the Dale. Delightful place. Simply teeming with animals, and plants of all sorts. Why, the other day I saw a Megaloprepus caerulatus. It was at least 7 inches in length, largest type of Dragonfly you know?"No, they probably did not know, as most others never knew either.
"I know we would love to have you both, if you are looking for a place to stay. Plenty of things for little girls to explore, a safe place for mothers not to worry over their young ' safety." Perhaps he was talking to much, he usually was, but he had already committed. Best to follow through of course. He blinked back at them, swatting flies with a rust hued tail as he became quiet. He wondered what they would have to say about that.
07-09-2015, 02:00 AM (This post was last modified: 07-09-2015, 02:02 AM by Erebor.)
We are at war. There will be scars.
He has just plain rotten luck when it comes to recruiting. Not that he has trouble with the process itself – on the contrary, he seems to be pretty successful. Rather, he has trouble meeting his own criteria for eligibility. For the longest time, he was too young. Now he's the proper age, but not the proper color. It's so much harder to recruit when you're an impossible color like wine red.
Harder, yes, but not impossible. He hopes.
He pauses on the edge of the field, letting his brown eyes (which seem to have skipped the color changing that had ravaged the rest of him) slip across each horse in turn. He pauses when he spots a pair, a mother and her child, perched along the edge of the field. As he watches, he notices another stallion heading for them, and decides to make sure that they'll have options. This stallion hardly looks like the force claiming type, but Erebor knows that looks can be deceiving.
The wine red stallion moves with purposeful grace. He's always had a strong gait, and now that he's finally grown into his legs that stride has come into its own. He crosses the distance easily enough, arriving at the little gathering just in time to hear the other stallion introduce himself. Unwilling to interrupt, he offers a small nod to the mare and her foal, and again to Weir. He is quiet still, although his appearance would almost no doubt attract attention. His eyes are brown, but that is the only thing about him that is any kind of normal. He is wine-red, a dark and masculine kind of red. His mane and tail are dark forest green and dark navy blue, intermingled in large stripes. The consistency of both his coat and his mane and tail are the same as you'd expect from any wild horse; it's only their color that is off (and oh boy is it off, no horse has these colors in nature).
Erebor has no qualm with the length of the other stallion's monologue. Sure, given the chance he'd have rather it be shorter. It's not efficient to take so long. But Erebor is a diplomatic creature first and foremost, and so he simply waits for Weir to describe the dragonflies, before finally shifting to the matter at hand and discussing his home. Or, at least, Erebor assumes it's his home, as the man practically reeks of Dale. Erebor can't say for sure – to him, saying you've "just come from" a place doesn't exactly imply that place is your home.
"Good morning ma'am, sir." He nods to each in turn. His voice is strong but pleasant. Even here, more or less relaxed, Erebor has the bearing of a cadet. He always looks as though he's a hair shy of standing at attention. He doesn't mean it to do so, but it inevitably enhances his fine features. Even with the wine-red coat, Erebor is still quite handsome. "I'm Erebor, from the Chamber." he pauses for just a moment, offering them a small smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, miss…?" he trails off in a way that makes his words a question, a smooth way of asking for her name.
“All human wisdom is contained in these two words - Wait and Hope”
-Alexandre Dumas
Pharaon understands the connection a mother and her foal can share. A look, a feeling, the longing gaze of love between the pair. She too had recently become a mother, and it is a bond that only mothers can understand. The dapple grey mare looks upon the pair, a smile growing upon her delicate face. The pair gave off a warm aura, and the little Pharaon decided they were the pair to befriend. But too long had she stood, lost in thought and wonder - for the pair had already been courted by two stallions, both unfamiliar to the Amazonian. Never the less, the grey approached slowly..
She arrives in time to learn the stallions' names. Weir and Erebor of the Dale and Chamber, respectively. She nods her head in greeting to the group. "Hello all, my name is Pharaon of the Jungle. She pauses a moment - allowing the mother and daughter to respond to the others' questions ahead of her own. She is patient, my Pharaon. Patient, kind, and albeit probably a bit naive. But she does her best to be respectful of others (especially diplomats like herself). "Have the two of you ever been to the Jungle? The flowers, twisting vines, birds and beasts alike make for a wondrous sight! It's warm year round, and the sisterhood is strong and protecting of one another. It is my home, my family, and we always have room for others to join us."
Pharaon always had difficulty describing the way the Jungle made her feel.. She had been to the Field once, alone and unknowing of the outside world. But her sisters had saved her - given her hope, a home, and those to call her own - a family. She truly couldn't imagine herself anywhere else. It's odd what fate can throw your way, if you only give it a chance.
She feels like she lives in the field, not the Valley. She hasn't had success yet, but it certainly isn't for lack of trying. Aletheia traces the path from the Valley to the field every day, sometimes multiple times per day. It's a long trip, one that requires her to traverse almost the entirety of Beqanna, but she makes it gladly.
There is nothing she would not do for her home. There is no hardship she would not suffer, nothing she would not give. It's a beautiful kind of devotion, and it's decidedly from her mother, not her father. Carnage is a law unto himself; Librette had taken devotion to the Valley as her law. Her life had been ruled by it, shaped by it, and her daughter was (unwittingly) walking that same path – quite happily. Not that you could tell that she was happy just to look at her; she doesn't really "do happy" per se. Her gaze is always dispassionate, her eyes are always like ice, and her voice always sounds like the kind of voice an audiobook reader has. Pleasant enough, but not terribly distinctive.
And so, here she is, again. She looks over the assembled horses – again. And she finds only one that looks promising – and she's already got several horses heading in her direction. Oh well, a little competition didn't bother Aletheia. In fact, not much of anything could bother Aletheia.
She joins the group just in time to hear the various horses introduce themselves. Weir from the Dale, Erebor from the Chamber, Pharaon from the Jungle. She nods to each of them in turn, a respectful and wordless acknowledgment. She is a small, slight thing, with a waifish beauty – the kind of beauty that suggests she'd be absolutely no good in a fight, which is presently somewhat true. She's trying to learn but, well, it's proving hard with no one to teach her.
"I'm Aletheia, from the Valley." she introduces herself easily, once Pharaon has finished introducing her home. "Your daughter is precious." she decides to test this new tactic, this flattering – she is unfamiliar with it, but she manages to make the compliment sound earnest on her lips. She is unaware that Quorra has lived within the Valley – it was far before her time. "We've got flowers and vines and birds and beasts too, although we don't have a sisterhood." her voice is a curious blend of flat and smooth, like the voice of an audiobook. Her words are laced with a gentle, wry humor – she is playing with Pharaon's words, not mocking the other mare. "But I can offer you and your child a home, protection, and a place to put down roots and grow." she smiles, an almost otherworldly smile. "I wish I'd been lucky enough to grow up there." Her voice is wistful. She does truly wish that – because she knows in her bones that the Valley is the place she's meant to be, and it would be darned convenient to have experienced as much of it as possible for as long as possible. It's not that she actually pines for it. Aletheia doesn't pine for anything.
Except, maybe, for fresh recruits for the Valley. But that's not something she's really going to share. They're all here for the same thing, it's obvious enough. And with that she offers both mare and foal a smile and falls silent.
but rises again
Aletheia
harder and stronger
Because I just can't stay away from Resound ponies <3 thank goodness for Pev or I'd have to throw Cam in here too :|
perhaps we've forgotten that we are still pioneers
and we've barely begun
A stallion, robust, determined. She eyes him up as he approaches, wondering what is going on inside his head, trying to guess where he is from and what he can give them. They aren't a trio for very long though before more come - another stallion, a mare, another mare. The first stallion, well, he seems nice enough. The second, she raises a curious eyebrow. It wasn't unheard of for horses in Beqanna to be peculiar colours, but she hadn't seen one for a while. She tries not to stare and when she catches Anjou doing just that, she gives her little blue roan daughter a warning nip.
"Manners," she scolds in a whisper, with the filly taking a sulken retreat between her mothers legs. The first stallion speaks, Weir. He mentions the Dale and Anjou seems taken my the idea of animals, her little eyes glistening with the possibilities. Quorra, though, for all her weathered hard years, is more calculating. She smiles politely, nods, and waits for the second stallion to speak before she gives her name. "Quorra... and this is my daughter, Anjou," she replies, for the benefit of all the gathered crowd.
The pretty dappled mare speaks next. Quorra begins to realise, all these homes would be suitable. She need not have worried about a lack of interest - they have come, giving her choice beyond her wildest dreams. Finally, Aletheia concludes her own spiel and the offers have been made. It is now for her to decide their destiny, to choose for herself and her daughter.
"Very kind offers, from all of you," she replies, a muted smile and a scrutinising eye cast upon them all. She does not know if it is right, but she has an inkling. If Anjou's father still resides in the Valley, then perhaps the best protection for them both would remain there - and a mare has come to invite them back. It couldn't have been planned better. "I think though, I should accept the offer from Aletheia - I'm sure all of your homes are lovely, but alas, I may have unfinished business within the Valley. If I am wrong, I might seek another of you out,"
