"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
10-12-2016, 08:54 PM (This post was last modified: 10-12-2016, 08:55 PM by Terra.)
some kind of quote here
Camelia had tried to give her a home. She’d followed the mare as best she could, tripping and stumbling through the long trek back to Camelia’s home. But they’d walked through a forest on the way, and somewhere between all of the thick trees and little hollows, Terra had lost sight of Camelia’s dark tail and become lost.
She’d run about for a while, desperately calling for Camelia in the hopes that the mare would hear her and come running. But in the end, no one had responded. And she’d been alone, yet again.
She’s been alone ever since, spending her days roaming about the forest and scrounging what she can from the underbrush. She’s managing as best she can for a child of her age, but it’s not enough. Her body is nourished by what she finds, but her mind is not, and with only the forest animals for company, she grows more wild by the day.
But, as luck would have it, she will soon have an opportunity for change.
For today she’s run across something that she has not yet seen - a clearing frequented by the other horses of Beqanna. Her dark little head pokes out from between the bushes, nose furiously at work as she scents, for the first time in months, the smells of other horses.
The sound of something rustling in the bushes startles her, and her ears drop to her skull as she bares her teeth and lets out a little growl - a trick she’d learned from an anxious little fox. She’s not about to be taken unawares.
An emptiness was blooming within him. Jinju was growing up, no longer a frightened child in need of his protection. Reagan was increasingly busy in her political position, her involuntary distance gnawed at his soul. He'd spent so long on his own when he'd grown away from his sister's side, he should be used to it. But this solitude felt different. It wasn't just him anymore. He knew the warmth of having his own family.
And the aching loss of it.
Today, he'd returned to the place that could ease his mind. The forest here was so like the woods he'd roamed with the wolves of the Valley, his only sense of family and belonging before he met Reagan. If there were wolves here, he never saw them. The only smell around was musky foliage and traces of other horses passing through. One more recent than the others.
Rustling in the brush grabbed his attention. He turned his head in time to see a dark little face break through, testing the air like a feral critter. He observed her quietly for a moment, then swung his hips to face her and took a tentative step forward.
She instantly caught on the sound of his advance, flattening her ears and snarling, and he halted. She behaved as a wild thing would, not a cared-for little one. How long had she been on her own? He let natural wolfish instincts take over as he ducked his head low, reaching to carefully whuffle some breaths at her small muzzle. He pulled back after a moment and studied her.
"Girl," he said gently but firmly. Come out.
It was a test to see if she'd been raised enough to learn speech yet, or if she'd instead answer to the command in his voice.
Large hooves crunch over the forest earth and Terra’s dark brown eyes swing about, quickly coming to rest on a massive horse that had been previously hidden in the shadows. She feels one brief stab of panic (he’s so big), before shoving it down and letting out another low growl. In her first few days here she’d quickly learned not to trust the other creatures roaming the woods.
But the large, dark head leans closer, whuffling softly and she freezes as the hot air engulfs her muzzle. “Girl.” As the head retreats, the horse’s voice rings out, deep, masculine, commanding. He wants her to come out into the clearing.
She hesitates for a moment. The open is bad, dangerous. There’s no place to hide there, no way to escape. No cocoon of branches and brambles to protect her.
And yet … as unsocialized as she is, some part of her recognizes that he means no harm. And a part deeper still wants, no, needs to reach out. Needs to be saved. Horses are not meant to live on their own as she has been forced to, and her secret heart yearns for someone to take her in.
Her breathing quickens and she steps forward, not stepping until she’s clear of the undergrowth. The moment her rump leaves the safety of the thicket her muscles bunch and tense, ready to spring into flight at a moment’s notice. And yet she stays. Waiting.
He studied her silently. Waiting. That flash in her eyes told him she'd understood either the word or the tone, and she hesitated. She knew what he asked of her. She considered her move carefully, debating if she'd come out in the open or stay in her little den of cover. He held still and let her work it out for herself.
After a few moments, she came to a decision, and carefully crept from her thicket. As soon as her full body was clear she tensed, ready to flee if she spooked. Seeing her come out though, taking that brave step, made him feel oddly proud of her.
He already knew he couldn't leave her to fend for herself, not after seeing her, but if he tried to take her now she'd be a flight risk. He couldn't chance something frightening her and sending her off into unfamiliar parts of the forest halfway home. He'd have to earn her trust, faith that he'd keep her safe as they passed through strange places. Loud, busy places. Quiet, empty places. And eventually home, another strange place with more strange faces.
He released her from the weight of his gaze, turning to the side in a show of peace. Body language would probably always be her first language. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground to appear smaller, all the while speaking calmly to her. "You are a brave little one. I've seen it already." What he said didn't matter, he wasn't imparting some great knowledge. He only wanted her to know his voice, learn to have confidence in it.
"I know of a forest not too unlike this one. You might like it if you choose to come with me. I wouldn't force you to, of course. But I'm not about to leave you alone here. I would stay too." And he would. Reagan would know where he was if she tried to seek him out. She'd probably know he'd have a reason for not returning home.
It felt odd to talk so much. He normally wasn't so chatty, but it had its purpose. His eyes scanned the forest before him as he continued, never falling directly on her again. "You could have a family if you want. You could share mine." He was too large to look vulnerable, but he did his best to show his own trust for her; trust that she'd stay and overcome any reservations she might have in depending on someone else.
He fell quiet and waited. He wouldn't push her, she might spook. She'd have to come to him when she was ready.
He’s as cautious as she, eyeing her the way one eyes a nervous dog (though she doesn’t recognize the look). He’s silent for a long time, blue eyes careful, considering.
Terra for her part stays still as a statue, dark brown eyes fixed on his dark form, watching for any twitch, any slight movement of his muscles. She is afraid, more afraid than she’s been in a long time (not since that first week she got lost in the woods), and yet …
Something about the look on his face reminds her of Camelia. The buckskin mare and this dark stallion are far, far different creatures, but there is the same care in the lines of his dark face, the same care and compassion. And as scared as she is, the thought of possibly finally ending her lost wanderings in the woods … well, it’s enough to keep her little hooves firmly where they are.
Time passes, blue eyes meeting brown, then finally his gaze shifts and his head turns to the side. He speaks, but the word he calls her - brave - means nothing to her and so silent she remains. He speaks of another forest, one he suggests she might like … if she were to follow him. He says he will not leave her alone here and that she could have a family, his family.
Family. The word takes hold, reaching down into her tiny, feral heart. She’d had a family before, a mother at least. A mother that had pretended to love her, then dumped her on her own in the den.
But he says he won’t leave her, and despite her uncertainty, despite her reluctance to trust (to take that leap), the walls around her heart begin to crack. There’s always the chance that he could end up leaving her too, but despite her experiences, the part of her desperate for love and affection urges her to take the chance.
One little dark leg takes a hesitant step forward. “I … I come.”
