"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
The grasses swayed, lush with life. Horses littered the meadow, some grazing, other sleeping, some even chatting with others. The sun was up, dipping to the west as mid-day passed. The cool breeze that came with spring, the lively scent of freshly fallen rain and blooming flowers, washed away the warming rays. Life in the meadow was peaceful, tranquil even. And somewhere within the green stocks, a spiraled horn peaked between the grass.
She rested near the edge of a small creek, sprawled out fully on her right side. Cremello pelt seemed a white gold with the sun glinting off it, the horn she bore seeming to dance in colors. The heat of the sun had pale lids covering gentle blue hues, a sleepy look taking the filly's features. She's of Andalusian lineage, the arch of her crest and nicely defined head a show of proof. Perhaps when she grew older, she'd be easy on the eyes, but until then, Zora remains lanky for her height, a simple 15 hands.
Life had been so boring as of late, so lack luster for the youth that the only thing Zora could think to do was lay in the sun and hope her nose didn't burn. She really should've been with others her age, reeking havoc and doing whatever else young equines like herself did. But she wasn't, alone in the green stocks of the meadow. It wasn't like it really bothered her, being alone. Zora had been alone since... well, a while ago. She never had been very good at keeping track of time. But never the less, here the filly was, basking in the daylight. Growing steadily bored the longer she just lounged about.
A fly buzzed by a pale ear, the audits flicking in annoyance. Her legs shifted every so often, the cooling period growing shorter and shorter as her patience thinned. It wasn't long before the Andalusian was gathering her feet beneath her and standing, ears pinned back as she peered over the vegetation. Even fully standing, the grass reached up to tickle her neck. Zora snorted, clearly very annoyed with her boredom. She just didn't do bored.
"Is there nothing to do here or what?" The two-year old ground out, searching the land with a small scowl. Her voice was young, child like. She looked and sounded every bit like a pouting tween who wasn't allowed to go hang out with friends.
hold me in this wild, wild world 'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
Oh, the joy of flight. He is a creature of the air, and having his wings back is a bright point in an otherwise bleak outlook on how his life is currently going. His family and friends are scattered to the winds, Beqanna has changed dramatically, his beloved Tundra is gone, even the Falls is gone, and he was powerless for some time. But Djinni has given him back his first and most beloved magic, the black wings that spread wide from both of his shoulders. The rest he can patiently wait for. And a home of sorts he has found, in Nerine, but yet here he is again aloft above the Meadow.
He had two of his family members at his side before, and they had said they were going to join him in the new home, but he had not yet seen them there. Thus, he is back soaring over the tall grasses of the Meadow, looking for them. The stallion has no real reason to believe anything has happened to them, it’s not like they are children anymore, but worrying about his family has hard-wired into his system for a while now, and he’d rather check and make sure than be sorry later.
Not to mention any opportunity to fly. Once upon a time, his feet had barely ever touched the ground, but years without his wings has left the muscles at less than their prime, and Brennen wishes to always be in his prime. He has seen too many wars and other battles to ever feel comfortable unprepared to defend himself and those he cares about.
His landing, at least, is more graceful. Even with his overly large wings, it takes a lot of power to land a thousand-pound animal, and when the wings had been newly restored and the muscles lacking, nearly impossible to do gracefully. Now the bay stallion lands with little noise, nearly gently touch first hind and then forelimbs to the ground before folding his feathers tight to his sides, primary feathers touching the ground somewhere behind his rear end. The sound of wings pulling through the grass is louder than the landing itself, and knowing he couldn’t possibly have snuck up on anybody, he takes his time fluffing each inky black feather back into place.
Only then does he hear the complaint, flicking his ears to gauge the direction of the voice and then turning to regard the horned girl out of honey-brown eyes, quickly assuaging that she is by herself. And, well, he’s always had a soft spot for children. His granddaughters are twice her age, he’d guess, and don’t really need him to find them right away. He has time, and he walks towards the stranger to waste it. “Not with that attitude, there’s not,” he responds, his voice with a touch of a drawl and a neutral expression on his face. “I’m Brennen. What’s your name?”
hold me in this wild, wild world and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
Zora snorted as she continued to scan the area, eyeing the other horses and buzzing insects. Her glower hadn't lessened, perhaps even growing worse. Lack of activity had settled within her bones, the youth aching for something to do. Perhaps she could entice a buzzing little bug to race? Maybe prance her way on up to another filly or colt and create a game to play? Or she could just continue standing where she was, scowling at any who fell under her annoyed blue orbs.
If mother was here, she'd indulge in Zora's restlessness, taking a walk through the land for any holes or divets in the ground. Once the pale mare had traced a safe path, she would've challenged her offspring to a race, let Zora speed off into the meadow she stood in. The thought of her mother... it had Zora shuffling, blue growing dark with guilt and sadness though her scowl remained in place. She'd be disappointed with her attitude, no doubt. Zora was old enough to be away from her parental figure, now anyways. But the two had been close, only having each other in their travels. Now, Zora was alone.
The grass rustled, though Zora chose to ignore it. She was too focused on her thoughts, too focused on how things would be, should be. But the stocks continued its loud noise, disrupting her thoughts and soon, a figure's shadow blocked the sunlight. It had Zora's head turning, tilting to eye the one who'd decided to come near her. Her audits perked at attention, blue orbs growing wide in surprise and wonder. His words floated right over her head, the filly too focused on who stood before her. It was.. a winged horse. A bay, winged horse! His black wings were tucked tightly against his sides, the grass bending farther too accommodate them. Zora shuffled back as she turned to face him fully, eyes locked on the flight capable appendages.
"Whooaa..." She breathed, her eyes finally flicking to the stallions face. A broad smile broke across her maw. "You're like.. me!" The youth crow hopped, a delighted laugh bubbling and spilling forth. "I mean, you're not like me, me. But you're different, like me!" The idea of another being like herself sounded preposterous, or it had up until now. Zora had yet to meet anyone who didn't look like any other horse out there. They never had horns or wings or anything! But he did, this stranger. He did and it totally awed the youth to know this. So a happy dance was in order. Zora hopped and swung her body in an excited circle, careful of the other's space. Her tail flicked happily, her forelock swishing with each turn of her head. And then she froze. Because she was in company. And two year olds weren't supposed to act like such kids.
Zora straightened as quickly as she had begun her dance, coughing like she hadn't just pulled such a dorky move. Pale hooves took little steps back, blue eyes looking at anything but the stallion in front of her. Great first impression, Zora... She cleared her throat after a moment, remembering he'd spoken to her right before her little excited display. A meek grin tugged the corners of her pink lips, a sheepish look taking on her form. "Awe... I'm sorry... I got a bit distracted... Could you uh.. repeat that?" Real great first impression.
hold me in this wild, wild world 'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
For just a moment, Brennen is taken aback by the girl’s overenthusiastic response to his appearance. His ears rotate just the slightest bit backwards as she suddenly starts leaping around, his body tensing in the way that warriors do when preparing for a fight, but just as easily he relaxes again when he realizes she isn’t threatening, just extremely active. Settling his weight to one side, he is prepared to wait her out. In his experience, it’s best just to let the young get things out of their system, rather than trying to settle them, unless it’s extremely important.
In the meantime, he reflects on the underlying meaning behind her words. Clearly, she is not a native. It is rare for him to think about what life must be like for those who do not live within Beqanna’s borders, for it is so rare anymore for him to come across those who come from the outside. But to the natives, magics like his wings and her horn are not so unique; it is the other things that lie under the skin, silent and waiting, that are the more impressive.
Perhaps this attitude is contrary to what the fae had wanted to cultivate when they took away all of the magics, but yet they had made it easier to earn back simple things like wings and horns, and such they are already common again amongst the people. What would it be like, to live in a world completely devoid of magic? Well they had it for just a while there, and Brennen hated it.
So he prefers not to imagine.
She has settled, standing sheepishly before him, and the once-great general favors her with a slightly bigger, truer smile. “I’m Brennen,” he repeats, “and I was saying that there’s not much to do here, specifically, unless you are looking to meet new people, or arranged a meeting with someone.” The Meadow is a great place to meet new people if that’s what your into, and an even better place for clandestine meetings or hanging out with people who don’t belong to the same herd or Kingdom as you, but Brennen has never found it particularly captivating. Perhaps that is why he has finally moved on, despite the loss of the Tundra and the Falls. “In my experience, most of the action happens by joining a Kingdom. Or just a land, as a suppose we’re calling them these days.” His lazy drawl manages to make a total upheaval of their entire way of life sound like an unimportant anecdote, but she wouldn’t know the difference.
hold me in this wild, wild world and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
