"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
02-14-2018, 03:26 PM (This post was last modified: 02-18-2018, 06:48 AM by Ilma.)
A little breeze goes a long way
The late summer evening had seemed the perfect timing for another trip. The cremello-white Andalusian mare hadn't explored the whole of Beqanna by far; so whenever the weather allowed for it, she enjoyed the warm air and the gentleness of the breezes that carried her through the sky.
Ilma had seen Hyaline, the Field, and the Meadow so far. So really not a lot of places at all. She had flown over Loess and Taiga, at least that's what Kagerus had told her the kingdoms beneath were called, and had not failed to see the large patch of green forest-area next to the Meadow. Now that autumn was quick to join them, the forest started to show. Some species of trees were yellowing, and in the late afternoon's light, it was a very inviting colour. She'd landed on the outskirts of the tree-lined area, finding that flight between the tree stems was probably impossible.
Her wings closed and folded unto her evenly-white bodice, she strolled through the woods as the sun slowly lowered itself to create an even more orange lighting.
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
For someone who came from an unearthly plain, she barely knows this land.
She knows the meadow, well enough; it’s there where she sleeps and wanders and passes time. She doesn’t go to the kingdoms – they are all strange to her, foreign. Mother spoke of kingdoms, but she used other names, the kingdoms that had been in place decades or centuries ago.
She likes the forest, too, likes the copse of trees, the shadows. It has a certain darkness to it, and though Salt herself is not particularly dark, she does enough her ghostly form, so it seems more fitting.
Today she is in her solid form, corporeal, dark and black as she moves through the trees, following trails made by many horses before her, a hundred unknown hoofprints. She slows, as another form comes into view, a pale mare with wings tight to her back, shadow stretching as the sun collapses into the horizon.
“Hello,” Salt says, then, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Ilma took in the scent of the forest; the air was colder here, but just as filled with life as any proper grazing field. It was mostly a more humid place, she thought; a place for mushrooms and moss to grow in the shade, for worms to feed the birds, chirping and chattering in the trees. In the late summer, the forest was lush with greens, and she enjoyed every step of her way, if silently.
She wasn't too far in when she picked up another mare's scent, and soon enough she came into view. With the expected greeting however, came the unexpected: an apology? Ilma shook her head with a laugh. "Don't be silly! I'm just strolling through the forest. I might have to apologize for disturbing you, even." she offered.
Her smile continued as she took in the black mare's form and scent. "But where are my manners? Hello and good evening to you, too. I am called Ilma." she continued. She swished her tail in the soft air, wondering if the other mare would accept her defiance of the un-needed apology.
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
