"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
11-06-2016, 08:47 PM (This post was last modified: 11-08-2016, 12:43 AM by Smidgen.
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Ugh, the snow again. Honestly, the tiny girl feels like it was only yesterday it was spring and the snow had melted away. Time flies, apparently. She's bigger now than she was last winter, but not by much. If one were to measure her, she'd come out at about twenty-six inches. Still not quite full height for the young falabella, but almost. Never would she be the height of the other horses in Beqanna, or even the height of the ponies that also reside here. Buuut, luckily for her, she still is completely unaware of the difference in her size and theirs, nor would she really care if she did. Right now, she is only aware of the fact that the meadow is coated once again in this thick and icy cold blanket of white that comes up almost to her shoulders.
She grunts a bit as she hops out of a snowy mound and lands into another. "Pffft!" She is bored, clearly. Her knees are now bent so that her face (always a baby face, even though she is passed the baby phase), is level with the surface of the powdery substance. The cold overwhelms her little nostrils and so she snorts, sending bits flying up and outward. At least the sky is not adding to the banks at present, although the clouds (shades of gray and swirly kind of like her coat) do linger in foreboding of more to come later. They hide the sun, but trap in the air, so that at least it isn't so freezing cold. She is grateful for the stillness of this day, as the previous night and been a bit breezy. The biting winds had sunk their fangs and claws down passed her thick, fluffy coat, chilling the girl to her bones. She had curled up in her hollowed tree spot in the forest, which had helped to block the wind flow, but had still made sleeping hard. It'd been a rare moment that Smidge wished she had someone to cuddle with and help her stay warm.
As per her usual, the silver grullo varnish sabino girl wanders the meadow alone, somewhat frolicking in the snow. Unlike her usual, however, she doesn't play pretend. Today, she is just Smidgen, and she wonders who she might meet; if she might make another new friend. E could always use more of those. Which reminds her, she's supposed to make a journey over to the place called Taiga, the foresty place her good friend (best friend?), Gyps, had called home. She wonders how the black and blues lady is doing, and realizes she kinda misses her. She even alters her direction, deciding she might as well begin now. But it would take time to get there, probably longer for her than most, but details. She certainly wouldn't mind some company in the meantime.
He had never been miserable in the cold. His thick ink and paper coat had always served him well when the wind and ice had nipped at the bones of others. He also had the advantage of the thick down of his feathered wings to trap the warm air of his body and hold it close with effortless ease. He has always felt most comfortable amidst the ice and snow, the shag to his coat and thick frozen tangles of his mane and tail attesting to that.
Today he finds himself trudging through the relatively deep banks left behind from last night’s flurries, the flakes melted against his heat and refroze the long hairs of his fetlocks together as he walked. He stopped here and there to uncover bits of frozen greenery to lip at, but his mind was on other things as of late, though his condition did not suffer. He was, as ever, a healthy horse.
He has seen oddities in these lands before, hell, not so long ago he met a woman who was also a rabbit. She’d been a shock. He himself wasn’t exactly normal, but as a general rule there were three things most Beqannans had in common; the first and foremost being that they were all of average horse height. Few strayed far from the average 15 hands. He was no exception. This is why she catches his attention, at first he thinks her a newborn foal struggling through the snow on new legs, though this is inherently wrong in his mind as it is not yet the season for foals. Upon closer inspection, he finds that the silvery girl is not a babe, but is simply quite small. And frankly, quite adorable. He approaches following along to the side as she moves, his steps slowed to match pace with her struggles. He smiles, a genuine smile, filled with a quiet calm he hasn’t felt in a long time. ”Hello” he says simply. ”I’d be happy to lay a path for you wherever you’re heading, that looks exhausting.” he offers amicably. After all, those long thick legs were good for something, they’d had plenty of practice plowing through the snow. ”I’m Uconn.”
11-15-2016, 12:03 AM (This post was last modified: 11-15-2016, 12:09 AM by Smidgen.)
She is romping, rolling, stomping and hopping along in the snow, playing her games when the stallion notices her. He does far sooner than she notices him, as she's preoccupied herself. She isn't exactly struggling, as she's used to this mess, but we'll say she's certainly not getting along as easily as he is, having much longer legs. The snow does a good job at softening his steps, but she finally hears him as he nears her from behind and off to the side.
Turning her head to see him slowing his pace beside her, she looks up to meet his smiling face and easily returns it with her own. He is about as tall as she remembers Weir being, and is black with white spotches. His hair is tangly, and his winter coat is generous and shaggy. Like hers! Although he wears his better, she thinks. Hers is wooly and thick, and makes her look a lot more poofy and round. The young girl is plenty plump underneath it, but her cloudy colored coat makes her look and feel like a big fluff ball.
Lightly tossing her forelock out of her vision, she beams up at him through big blue eyes as he greets her and offers her a path. Giggling softly with her tinkering little laugh, she nods. "Well there is just sooo much of it, isn't there?" She says, voice somewhat high pitched and feminine, and accentuates her words with a wave of her small head encompassing the expanse of white covering the whole meadow. He speaks his name and she looks back up at him with a little pop of her nose. "Hi, Uconn! I'm Smidgen." Her smile turns sweet, which softens her eyes. "I'm going to the place called Taiga. One of my friends' lives there. Have you ever been there?" And will you come with me? She does not add, though it is the next question on her mind. This man seems nice enough, and she does hope he would like to be friends. He has offered to pave her way, after all. She thinks that's a good sign.
