"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
Their journey had been longer than Belgaer had anticipated. Accustomed to flying, walking felt a tedious task. His wing ached to take flight and to feel the wind blowing through them once more. Pond, however, was flightless and he kept himself grounded for her sake. She was unsure, he knew and the world around her was unfamiliar and strange. Crossing the ocean he had swam beside her, taking the fullness of her weight as his wings served to paddle them safely across the channel. She would be safe if Ischia. Brennen would welcome her and do his best to help her, as would Belgaer. He felt an uncanny attachment to the small child and it would be impossible for him to abandon her.
Safely ashore, he shook his mane free of water, spraying the dry compacted sand beneath his hooves. Icy cold his body trembled, revealing the soft touch of the sun baked sand. For a moment he considered how it might feel to roll, but he suppressed the urge as he returned his attention back towards Pond.
"Are you alright?" He asked nuzzling the highest point of her withers. "I know that you must be tired and I promise, our journey is almost done. Rest now and I will go and summon my father."
Stepping away from her he gave her a moment of privacy to tend to herself as he delivered into the winds the sound of his father's name.
05-16-2018, 08:03 PM (This post was last modified: 05-16-2018, 08:09 PM by Pond.)
She can still remember traversing the steep dunes and the swampy grounds of the marsh where she once lived with her father’s small family. Even in those days her mother had been dejected - Pond doesn’t know of Eiffel’s capture in the Chamber, her abuse and the feathers plucked from her wings, because neither Anleifr or Eiffel had spoken of it by then, but she has heard many stories about her family’s life.
That is why she had been dreaming of them, why she had been searching for them and of the smell and the heavy dry heat of a golden desert. But all she had awoken to was the moisture of the River. When Belgaer had found her, he had reminded her of her brother even though she had hardly known Harking.
She keeps close to him as they swim across the channel to the island of Ischia. She didn’t even know if she could swim, but the help she received from Belgaer during the trip had helped and given her the courage to traverse the waters. Her transient wings were no use right now and she felt so small against the currents of the ocean they had crossed. Once they finally climb onto the sand, she shivers too with the chill of winter, but at least the sun is a little brighter now.
The young stallion asks after her wellness and Pond nods her head with a deep breath of the air; sand is familiar under her feet. He nuzzles her and she accepts it without shying this time, welcoming the warmth. “I’ll be right here,” she speaks softly, relaxing a little. She hopes they will all be as kind to her as Belgaer has been as she drops carefully to her knees where the sun shines. Questions boil in her mind, but the swim had tired her, so she rests her small body for now, eyes growing a little heavier as she awaits what would happen next.
hold me in this wild, wild world 'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
No matter what the circumstances are, Brennen always has at part of his attention on the lookout for his family. Here on the Island, it is easier than it has ever been to keep track of the members of his family who live with him; he had raised countless children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren in the Tundra before coming here, but having the littles basically stuck on an island with no natural predators and no way to wander off makes the task a thousand times easier, as does the rare but quite pleasing circumstance of having his mate - now his Queen - residing on the island as well. Not since his first doomed love had any of the bay stallion’s paramours resided with him; the strong women he was usually attracted to rarely found the icy bachelor Kingdom to their liking, and beyond that oft had duties to their own people and Kingdoms. His current love is no less strong for not being a Leader of Men in her own right, and Brennen relies on Galilee’s own strengths heavily as he goes about trying to lead his new Kingdom.
He’s meandering her direction, absently searching for one or all of his youngest charges, when his son’s voice comes over the wind from somewhere along the coast and the King deftly changes direction, picking up a trot as he carefully navigates a path through dense jungle that will bring him to Belgaer quicker than retracing his own steps on the well-worn path and the having to move along the shore. He glances up into the branches that rustle above him as the trees begin to thin and slows to a steady jog as a particularly bright green parrot glides down to latch his dextrous toes in the bay’s mane. “Friend,” it chirrups first, and he knows that will be Belgaer, who the birds would recognize easily. “Stranger,” he adds, and so Brennen knows before he ever emerges that his son will not be alone.
Still, he wasn’t expecting someone so...young…, and though his pace does not falter he blinks a few times in surprise before he reaches them. “Bel,” he greets his son affectionately, brushing his dark muzzle across his son’s copper shoulder, and letting his gaze linger on the girl in the sand, flicking back to Belgaer with frank curiosity in his eyes. He wasn’t aware of his child having any love interests, and would certainly hope to have been informed if Belgaer was expecting a child, but he can’t imagine where Bel just happened to pick one up otherwise. “And who’s your friend?”
hold me in this wild, wild world and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
Belgaer does not have to wait long before his eyes fall upon the distant figure of his approaching father. A parrot tangled in his mane, the king is truly a sight to behold. Appearing almost half-bird himself Belfaer appreciated his father eccentric sense of humor. Glancing behind him, the winged chestnut's concern for his charge grew. Disheveled and exhausted she stood off in the hard packed wet sand her coat baking in the sunlight. Their's had been a long journey and the pace he had set had been purposeful. As a result, the filly appeared even more weak than when they'd started out on their journey. Whatever slumber she'd awoken from had left her disoriented and confused, but throughout their trek she'd remained silent. Only speaking when spoke to. It had felt odd to him, but he'd respected her space.
Turning to face his sire, Belgaer offered him a weary smile. His name as it fell from Brennen's lips contained a question and the insinuation was almost amusing. It was not completely unknown that the bay desired to see his children settled with mates and children of their own, but Pond was not Belgaer's mare. She was far too young.
"This is Pond," he began in a tone barely above a whisper, opting to ignore his father's subtext. "I stumbled upon her wandering alone in the Riverlands. Father...she's different. She asked me about -." His voice faded in disbelief as he took time to consider how crazy he might seem. Clearing his throat he continued once more. "She says she is looking for the desert."
The admittance still sounded odd to his ears, even after the time he'd had to process it. Angling himself towards the filly, he cleared Brennen's view of her.
"Pond," he beckoned to her gently. "Come, meet my father."
Pond has tucked into the sand where it seems that the sun does a better job of warming and drying her fur, folding her long legs beneath her as she catches her breath. Even with Belgaer’s help, the long walk and short swim had stolen some of her energy, but she already feels some of the strength coming back to her under the sunlight even in the chilly air of the northern island. The jungle ahead of them seems appealing, where she is sure the oceanic air may not be as bothersome, but she does remember some of the manners her parents had taught her in their short time together and knows not to go romping into a strange new place without caution.
The spotted stallion who had led her here and helped her across the channel calls out, and she listens with perked ears, but she rests her eyes for now. Everything she hears is foggy, from the gentle brush of the waves behind her to the sound of his cry. Her ears flicker only feebly, half as aware as any foal or mare’s should be as her eyes rest softly against the sunlight that warms her.
But she can feel the slight shift of the sand and then she hears the voices above her, so she lifts her head with a snort and there is Belgaer, and he seems almost to be guarding her until he steps aside and beckons her forward. With a few deep breaths and a gulp of the dry ocean air, she stands with a slight cough and shakes herself. She had not been able to hear their exchange before, but she knows why Belgaer had brought her thanks to their conversation before.
“Hello Brennen,” she says in her soft voice, nodding her head in the respectful way her parents had taught her. “Belgaer said you may be able to help me understand what has happened to my home.” It’s about all she can manage to ask since what Belgaer had told her already seemed so impossible to understand, but she lifts her gray eyes to meet the king’s with some confidence. She is the child of a king, after all, so she knows how to act in their presence. But she begins to lose her breath and tears pool in her eyes as she asks: “have the Deserts really gone?”
She fears the worst for her family and hopes they are safe, but she knows the world has changed now. What would become of her now? The shadowy wings trembled upon her shoulders as she waits.
He gives Belgaer his full attention as he is speaking, forgoing all of his worries about Kingdom business to focus on this concern his son has brought him, as he would do for any of his numerous children. It’s part of what makes some of them grow up so astoundingly well, like Belgaer, but he does not understand why it is not so with all of them - the defection of some of his brood to things that are so deeply against his own values confuses Brennen, and hurts his heart. How does one value the needs of the many - his other children, his Brotherhood, their allies - against the needs of the few who are lashing out seemingly against Brennen specifically, their father?
It is something he worries over, though now he has pushed it aside for the time being.
He’s pretty stolid and unconcerned until the words “the desert” leave his young son’s mouth. The Desert. Not a desert. A million thoughts, faces, and memories flash across his mind and his expression deepens - past his usual solemn mask of serenity but something vastly painful, a wound that will never heal quite right. He’s still a little shocky when she steps up and speaks, her own distress becoming increasingly evident despite her polite and soft-spoken demeanor. “A pleasure to meet you, Pond,” he’s stalling, oh how he is stalling, but he needs a moment and the deep breath he takes now to gather his scattered thoughts.
”I’m afraid that everything you and I once knew is gone,” he says finally, with true grief in his voice. ”The fae were angry with all of Beqanna, for our divisions and hatred of each other based on imaginary lines drawn in the sand, and our abuse of powers gifted to us, and they razed much of the world, all of the Kingdoms, reforming it to new places to live.” how can he explain why, when he doesn’t understand? When the loss of his beloved Tundra is still painful, something he took a decade or more to recover from?
It is nice to be home, the comfort of his surroundings quickly envelopes him in it’s warmth. The waves slowly retreat off shore, leaving the sand wet and packed. Pond is watching from her spot upon the beach and he smiles encouragingly as she tentatively approaches. The disbelief is still fresh upon Brennen’s face, shock etching itself upon every line of his face. When Pond is upon them, the king is careful to replace his shock with an expression filled with kindness and welcoming. The filly speaks, her voice unsteady and unsure as her gaze shakes unsteadily about. Uncommonly respectful, Belgaer is shocked by her manner as she tells Brennen everything that she had already shared with the son. Her word does little to diminish the pain that rises up from the depths of mahogany stallion.
Belgaer can only imagine the thoughts and memories that were tormenting the king in that moment. He knew the answer to Pond’s question, and the truth of the reality stabbed him like one thousand hot knives. The chestnut knows that a time would soon be upon him when he would find himself in the same position of his father. Immortality was a heavy burden to bare, but he thanked the fairies and trusted their judgment in giving him such a gift.
As Brennen’s words faded Belgaer turned to gauge Pond’s reaction. Surely the news would be hard to comprehend and accept. More than likely Pond’s parents had fallen victim to the fae’s rage, or had died long before the filly had awoken from her slumber.
Belgaer stepped forward, his eyes kindly upon her. “Pond,” he began with even toned vocals. “Is there anything you can tell us that might help us figure out what happened to you? What was the last thing you remember?”
Magic was powerful throughout Beqanna and there were many beings powerful enough to induce an ageless slumber. If she could remember even the slightest of clues they might be able to help her piece together the truth of why she found herself in this new version of the world she’d been born into.
To have been reunited with her own father would have been a dream in its own to the young Pond. It feels to her that the last time she had seen Anleifr had only been a day or so before, but she is beginning to realize that it has been far, far longer than that. The ground beneath her feet feels different, even though they stand upon sand which to her should have been familiar. The very turn of the planet seems to have changed.
She perks her ears a little too intensely as their conversation begins, watching the mouths of the two older stallions and interpreting their words through the static in her eardrums. When Belgaer tells his father of what Pond is searching for, the king’s expression changes and she wonders why. Even though Belgaer had already told her that the lands were all different, she had hoped that maybe he’d been wrong. Something told her she was the one who’s wrong.
As Brennen explains that the fae had destroyed the lands to rid Beqanna of its prejudices and abuses before. Pond had been educated somewhat in the ways of kingdoms before and the way they never had quite fit together like the puzzle pieces they were, but she’d had such a short time with her parents that she never truly grasped it all. A heavy sigh leaves her lungs and her silvery eyes fall to the ground as she shakes her head slightly in disbelief.
“I didn’t want to believe it…” she mutters, the shadowy wings on her shoulders falling slightly to her sides. Belgaer asks if she remembers anything from before and she thinks back on it, her gaze growing distant. “There was...one of the fae who came to me in the form of a pink unicorn,” her voice is quiet. “She led me to a place she said that she wouldn’t travel alone… That’s where I met a...a shadow foal. It tried to steal my body.” She shudders. “But I was able to destroy it,” at this she laughs a little incredulously and finally looks back up at the other two.
“Do you suppose that is why I was spared? Because I was somewhere made of darker magic than the rest of Beqanna?” The thought rather disturbed her - what if she had somehow become corrupted by it, unaware of its effects?
