"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
I do not frequently have the chance to use my wings in the close forests of Sylva. The open sea offers challenges (the winds here are unpredictable) but I arrive on the southwestern coast of the main island with minimal ado. I had felt the increasing temperatures as I crossed the shallow sea, but I find that as I pull my white and navy wings to my sides that it is almost uncomfortably warm here even in the dead of winter. My experience with other lands is minimal, and I wonder if perhaps there are kingdoms trapped perpetually in spring and winter the way that Sylva seems trapped in fall and Ischia in the dead of summer.
I wade into the water in an effort to cool off, but there is a smell to the clear waves that suggest that this is not good water to drink. I trust my instincts, and the memory of drinking from a saltwater pool as a child in Loess. Perhaps whoever comes to greet me will be willing to share the location of fresh water with which to slake my thirst.
With that in mind I raise my head to call out, a clear cry to anyone within hearing distance.
He is so rarely alone. With an aunt and two uncles also just turned one, as well as the myriad of other relatives and the Brothers, Grye is usually under the watchful eye of some adult or another. But now as spring touches the rest of Beqanna, Grye and his playmates can be truly counted as yearlings, and Brennen has relaxed his careful watch of his children to some extent, and allowed that they may be free to wander the islands alone, though he has admonished them still not to leave Ischia without an elder.
The champagne-colored colt is taking full advantage of this newfound freedom, and headed down to the beaches, where is favorite activity is exploring the contents of the tidepools. Oh, of course he loves his family in all of it’s chaos and enormity, but he seeks these quieter moments alone for himself. In that way, he is like his sire. Olivier has always been the quieter sort, even though Grye’s mother Dagny has been all of the choas of Brennen’s extended family combined. But his quiet introspection is disturbed by a call from upshore, and the colt lifts his head and trots off that direction without looking back, as intrigued by the unfamiliar voice as he is by his tidewater ecosystems.
The unfamiliar voice belongs to an unfamiliar face, and the boy trumpets an excited greeting back as he trots along, his own wings tucked to his sides. “Hello!” he calls as he draws nearer, bright eyes curious. “I’m Grye. Welcome to Ischia!”
Some part of me had expected Mosrael to be the one to greet me, as she is the only Ischian I know (that is not currently held captive in the forest that I have just left behind). But it is not the purple spotted mare that greets me, it is a champagne foal with what seems to be a deformed face.
No, I realize as he comes closer and speaks clearly, not deformed, just different. Like a golden eagle, I think, or the osprey that I had soared beside on my trip across the sea. I wonder if he eats fish the way the osprey had, but know that to ask that would be rude and off-topic. Still, I give the boy an easy smile and extend my muzzle for a curious greeting.
"Thank you, Grye." I reply, "I'm Lepis, and I've come from Sylva to speak to Brennen."
She smiles in return, and Grye absently kneads the sand with his forefeet even as he leans in to her greeting, muzzle to muzzle and intrigued by the smell of unfamiliar trees on her skin. His birth-home had always smelled of sulfur and sweet-grass, and Ischia smells of tropical trees and saltwater. The boy hadn’t even noticed that his feet were still in their secondary form, long finger-like talons instead of round hooves. He’d been picking things up in the tidepools, and he could do that with dextrous talons in a way he certainly could not with hooves. But the notices as he is pulling back, and his smile turns sheepish. His family insists that he should be more aware, by his age, of his talons. They don’t care, one way or another, what his feet look like, but they are disapproving of the way he is simply unaware of them.
Grye doesn’t really understand their concern, his talons being as much a part of him as the wings that he can’t think away, but last time he’d been on the verge of throwing a fit worthy of any his irascible dam had ever graced them with, his older, diplomatically inclined uncle Bel had quietly pulled him aside to explain that it might make people uncomfortable, and he should always be considerate of the effect he has on others. That had gotten Grye’s attention, and he had been trying to pay more attention. He concentrates for a moment on the feeling of hooves, and is glad to see his forefeet slowly change back to the blunt, round shape of a normal horse. He hopes he hasn’t made his new friend (for he doesn’t guess she could be anything else) uncomfortable.
His first response to her words is an outpouring of excitement, because the yearling can help with her quest! “Oh! Grandpa was going to check on Galilee. I can take you to him,” he turns to lead the way towards the trees and the paths that are worn into the ground underneath them, but a mental review of what Lepis had actually said has him screeching to a halt, and shooting the mare an uncertain look. “Sylva?” he voices the word in clear question. Brennen might believe in keeping his youngsters close and safe, but he doesn’t believe in lying to them. He hasn’t shared any details with the children, but his concern over what news Grye’s aunt and uncle had brought back from Sylva and the fact that he considered Sylva one of the main reasons Grye and the other children had not been allowed off the island have stuck with the pale colt, and he considers whether it would be wise to bring an emissary from that Kingdom to his Grandfather’s favorite resting place, where his foster-grandmother Galilee is fat with pregnancy, and his yearling aunt probably chases butterflies (one of Khaeli’s favorite games).
No, he thinks, best not to go any farther without consulting with an adult. Green eyes look around, hoping one of those exalted individuals with present themselves, but alas, it seems his many babysitters are as glad to be free of the task as he was to be free of them, and have made themselves scarce to pursue tasks unsuited to a yearling nephew or Brother poking along behind. “Um, on second thought, Galilee really likes a little privacy when she’s nesting. I’m sure Grandpa will come back to the shore to check for visitors at low tide. Can I show you my favorite tidepool, while we wait?”
ooc; clearly he needs a different HTML because you are not the first person to think he has a beak or actually looks like a gryphon lol. I pretended she was interested in his talons because he sometimes has those <3
05-20-2018, 09:30 PM (This post was last modified: 05-29-2018, 06:25 PM by kahzie.)
There are few children in Sylva; Kwartz and I seem to be the youngest, and yet I feel eons older than this bright eyed yearling. The smile I give him in return is genuine, and he seems ready and willing to take me to the King. His grandfather, he says, and I begin to suspect that the Brotherhood is as closely bound by blood as by loyalty. How large is this family, I wonder?
The sudden halt and the repetition of 'Sylva', is all too obvious a sign, but the friendly expression on my face doesn't falter, even as the boy turns back and is suddenly far more reluctant to show me to Brennen and to Galilee. Nesting? The term doesn't surprise me, not with the bird-like talons of young Grye, and I pocket the information that Brennen's family might be growing larger still with the spring.
I join him in glancing up and down the empty beach, and do not protest his sudden change in plans.
"Of course," I reply. "I've never seen a tidepool before." I am intrigued by the idea. I know what pools of water are and I have heard of the tides, but the two seem incongruous. Most of the world seems incongruous, of course, for I have seen so very little of it. "How did you decide it was your favorite?"
edited 5/29: since Jesper's time as a captive is almost up and Lepis was here to talk about his captivity, i think wrapping up this thread would make sense? Maybe she and Grye just played on the beach for a bit and she went home? I'm up for whatever
