"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
He is a nosy sort, and far too curious to remain cooped up anywhere for long. It is always one thing or another that leads him away, bringing him to parts unknown. Today, it is his namesake of all things. A small red fox whose shaggy coat matches his own almost perfectly. He is invariably curious. It’s his first chance encounter with such a creature, and, given his name, he is understandably intrigued.
At first he doesn’t quite realize he has left home. He is busy following the small creature, doing his best to keep up with it’s scampering form. It’s a bit difficult, given that he is so much larger than this animal and has a much harder time fitting in some of the same spaces. But he manages. A time or two, he fears he might have lost it, but somehow he always manages to pick up it’s trail again (of course, the trail of snow he had placed on it’s tail helps with that. Really, all he needs to do is follow that meandering, melting line).
So when he does finally come up short, understanding sinking in that this is no longer home, he is quite lost. No doubt he could find his way home should he really try, but being lost is so much more fun. With an entire, wide world of new sights and scents and sounds to explore, how could one not be a bit excited?
Though he does not know it yet, it is quite his fortune to have come across the meadow. It is a place that teems with life, calling to the curious, gregarious soul that resides in the youthful red colt. With a wag of his short, fluffy tail and a haphazard grin, he trots forward, eager to discover this brand new place.
she's the bright hot sun in the cold night she's the cold black darkness in the starlight
She had once heard that her mother had found all of the voices overwhelming—that she had struggled at first to navigate through the noise of it all. Lynx could comprehend why someone would feel that way, but it had never been her reality. From the first breath, the humid air rushing into her tiny nostrils, she had found it right. It had been right that she had access to everyone’s innermost thoughts; it was right that she could tap into their collective knowledge, collective emotion without so much as a flinch.
It was right that she was given all of this power and more.
She did not struggle to control it, although perhaps she should have. Perhaps she would have learned some semblance of empathy had she found it difficult. Instead, she arrogantly breezed through her first few months of life, plucking through conversations, untangling the threads of their lives with the utmost ease. But instead of imbuing her with kindness, with grace, it left her cold. She focused on the worst of them, hardened herself before she ever had a chance. All souls were darkened. All souls were blackened.
That is the first lesson she learned as a child.
She cared for her family, as well as she could, but she often kept to herself, sneaking through the land to find whatever secrets she could hoard to her breast, and then, when she was more sure of herself, leaving the land entirely—going to the mature meeting grounds of the meadow and the forest to find further adventure. That is how she ended up in the meadow of all places today, the land teeming with life.
Her attention, however, was stolen by the sight of one that was vaguely familiar, the red of his coat a sight she had seen in her Tephra roaming although she had never bothered to introduce herself to him. His thoughts were loud though, and exuberant, and it caused her pretty face to scowl a little. What business did he have being so happy about being in the meadow? Peeved, she moved out from the shadows, her dual-colored eyes peering out from beneath the ink and snow of her fluffy forelock.
“You’re not lost,” her girlish voice curt. “You’re in the meadow, Fox.”
She plucked his thoughts from the air between them and jerked her head back to the border. “If you want to go home, it’s that way.” She sighed, rolled her shoulders. “Although I imagine you’d get lost then too.”
Let's just say that, despite all his curiosity, he really sucks at paying attention. So it is as much a surprise to him as it was entirely expected to her that she brings him up short. He halts in mid-stride, skidding a bit as he does so, wide amber gaze swinging around to find the owner of the childlike voice.
Childlike because it is, in fact, a child. Very near the same age as he.
He hadn't expected to run across another foal in the meadow, much less one that strikes him as familiar (though that familiarity completely escapes him at this particular moment). Tilting his head, he studies her a bit, lips pursed in thoughtfulness.
The meadow. Well, that makes sense. And is equally as intriguing. But not nearly as much so as this little girl who seems to know him. A very rude little girl, he might add. Narrowing his eyes, he considers her a bit longer. Not just rude, grumpy (though the fact that he is likely being quite rude too escapes him as well).
”How do you know who I am?” Though belied by the words, his tone is less suspicious and more curious than anything. ”And who says I'm lost?”
He pause a moment as another realization strikes, causing his light brown eyes to narrow even further. ”How do you know where I live? Who are you?” Another brief pause. ”Are you a spy?”
The last is said with the barest hint of excitement. Well, for a boy his age, the prospect of a spy is quite exciting. Though he really has no idea why anyone would be spying on him.
she's the bright hot sun in the cold night she's the cold black darkness in the starlight
She instantly regretted engaging with the boy, finding his youthful enthusiasm overbearing. Still, she was not one to tuck tail and run and so she held her ground, regal head tilted to the side so that she could watch him with her red eye, focusing it on him. At all of his questions, she just gave an elegant shrug, the motion one you would usually find from someone much older and much more experienced, and then an exasperated sigh, as if rubbing her temples. Honestly, couldn’t he just be glad for the information?
“You told me who you are,” she said in her icy tone. “It is clear you are lost. I know you live in Tephra because I also live there, and my name is Lynx.” At his last question, her smile grew a little wider and a little brighter, although the edges were just as cold as before. “And yes. I am a spy. All of that was a lie.”
Rolling her eyes, she took a step forward, delicate hooves sinking into the crunch of the summer grass, the edges of it burnt from the heat. She leaned down to nibble at it for a moment before making a face and lifting her head again. It really was disgusting. “I have no idea why anyone would spy on you either, Fox, although I suppose it does not hurt you from thinking it.” She pressed her lips together. “You really are a very fanciful boy.” As if they were not the exact same age and he even edging her out in height.
For a moment, she considered asking him a question—asking why he was so happy, why he had bothered to come all the way out here at all—but she swallowed them as quickly as she thought of them. She didn’t want to give him the false impression that she was interested in being friends with him.
Her? A friend? Could you imagine?
She snickered at the idea but otherwise remained quiet.
He could no more stop the questions spilling from him than she could stop hearing the thoughts tumbling about his head. The filter between brain and mouth has never seemed to quite function the way it should with him. Neither could he possibly be satisfied with something that leaves so many questions unanswered. A trait he had perhaps inherited from his father. The man seemed to know everything, and Fox is quite easily as curious.
It is overwhelmingly evident in the sigh, in the chill of her tone, that she is not entirely pleased. He frowns, wondering what she could possibly have to be displeased about. The day is quite fine, the sun bright and company plentiful. Much to keep one entertained. But then, perhaps Fox merely has more simple desires than she.
Rolling his eyes, he responds quickly with ”I did not tell you my name… oh.” So, she is also from Tephra. He's certain they've never met (he would have remembered someone like her), but it's possible she could have heard of him. It's not like he's been exactly silent and distant.
Plus, the fact that she so openly admits she's lying might have set him back a bit. So he does the only thing he can: he laughs. A bright peal of merriment that instantly lightens the mood.
Her next quip brings a nearly instant realization: she could somehow see what he is thinking. She had to be able to. It is the only thing that makes sense, since he knows he didn't say any of that out loud.
Turning, a grin tugging at his lips, he steps a bit closer to her. ”Do it again!” he insists, his voice bright and excited, before realizing he hasn't actually clarified. ”I mean, you can see my thoughts, or something, right?”
He's nearly dancing now, his happiness quite infectious (in perhaps the most literal sense of the word). So much so he doesn't even wait for her response. ”Oh, how brilliant is that?!”
she's the bright hot sun in the cold night she's the cold black darkness in the starlight
There is something light about him, something that causes a funny feeling in her chest.
She doesn’t understand it, has never really felt it, and so she ignores it, turning her cheek to the spreading of it. She had no desire to be happy or joyful or to bounce around with the same exuberance as him. So she scowled further, her pretty face contorted with it, her girlish lips pulled down. As he connected the dots, she just laughed, although the sound was hollow and cold in her mouth, meaningless without humor.
“There you go, Fox.” She rolled her eyes at his childish demands and shrugged her shoulders again. “It is not something I can ‘do again.’ It is just something I am. I can read your mind as quickly and as easily as you have thoughts.” One corner of her mouth quirked in the corner. “Or as easily as some have thoughts.”
He didn’t strike her as dumb, but it had taken him quite a bit of time to realize what she was doing.
“You are right though. We have never met in Tephra.” She preferred it that way. She had no business in going about making friends. It wasn’t like her parents were socialites lately. They kept to themselves in the volcanic land—making appearances when necessary but keeping their own company otherwise. Even with her twin, she was oddly distant for most of the time. Connections made you weak, vulnerable.
She couldn’t afford any of that. Not if she was going to do what she believed she could.
“And you’re also right in that you would have remembered me.” She leveled her eyes on him, the icy blue and fiery red staring at him. She was rather unforgettable, in appearance and demeanor. It was something that she planned to leverage in her life; dynasties toppled before those like her. They just needed a shove.
He has never before meet anyone who could read thoughts, so the idea is both foreign and intriguing. And, as one might have already noted, quite exciting. That he had put two and two together so quickly is in one sense surprising, considering just how oblivious he very often is.
But then, he is not dumb, despite appearances. In fact, it is often the case that those of a scholarly nature are frequently absent-minded. Certainly it is true for his father, so it should come as no surprise that Fox is of a similar mind.
Even if he is significantly more exuberant.
Given that truth, the scowl that deepens the lines about her lips serves only to broaden the grin upon his. He is affecting her, he knows it. And he so lives for just these things.
She's right, she is rather unforgettable. With her dual-toned gaze and fearsome demeanor, there are few who could forget her. And Fox, despite everything, has a very good memory for those he has met. He likes other horses after all, taking quite a bit if interest in their lives and what makes them unique. So he might forget many things, but faces are not one of them.
”Really?” His voice turns thoughtful, and just a bit mischievous. ”Oh, well… hmmm.” One equine brow kicks up, almost a dare. ”Let's play a game then, shall we? You tell me what, precisely, I'm thinking.”
It's a simple game really. One he is certain he will find vastly entertaining. Indeed, he has a hard time containing the twitches if amusement that threaten to tug at his lips as the refrain of 'Grump, grump, grump, grump’ traipses through his mind.
she's the bright hot sun in the cold night she's the cold black darkness in the starlight
She has begun to resent the jovial air he lends to the conversation—the cavalier way he is not intimidated by her presence, his eyes lighting up further each time she scowls. She loathes the way that part of her wants to give into the foreign laughter that simmers in her stomach, the emotion a leach; she had not invited it in and it certainly had not originated from her, but it had made itself at home regardless.
She could not stand it.
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at him but, still, she decided to play along with his foolish game. He truly was such a child. Lynx shook her head and sent the black and white fluff of her mane flying, the edges of it curling just barely in the summer heat. She dove into his mind and then instantly huffed, the sound one of royal indignation. “Excuse you, I am not a grump,” she snarled. “I am just not an absolute child.”
(Of course she was - but she didn’t think that.)
She took a step forward, the happiness he induced fighting against the natural dark edge of her nature, the toy of them warring inside of her. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “I want to laugh but I don’t want to laugh—not really.” Her mouth pulled into a pretty frown. “Why are you doing that?”
Did he have powers too? It seemed like the only logical explanation, but she didn’t like the idea of the young boy with his wide eyes and guileless smile besting her. “You are rather annoying, Fox,” she decided with a huff, but that didn’t make her leave. Why she stuck around, glaring at the red boy with his too-big smile and his boyish giggle, she didn’t know and didn’t care to think about too hard.
It's difficult to be intimidated by someone who is smaller than one is, especially when that particular someone is just as young and fluffy and adorable in her own right. Even if she is rather grumpy. Besides, this is Fox we are speaking of. He doesn't have the good sense to be intimidated by anything.
And definitely not when he is so vastly entertained as he is. The huff of indignation causes the little red colt a fit of giggles, which is swiftly followed by peals of bright laughter at her horribly offended words. His whole body quivers with mirth, head dropped low and fluffy tail bouncing madly.
When finally the humor subsides and he is able to meet her gaze once more, his face is quite split by a wide, lingering grin. ”Oh, you so are a grump. There's no denying it.” He can't help the teasing tone that lightens his voice as he responds jovially.
Her demand however, brings him up short. He tips his head, studying her closely as he tries to determine the exact effect he is having on her.
Of course he had noticed the effect he has in those around him, though it is not a conscious thing (not yet, at least). His father had once explained to him that he carries the magic of Christmas within him, a fact that allows him control of snow and ice (a gift which he thoroughly enjoys), among other things. Perhaps this too is a part of it. He knows the story after all, of the joy and cheer that Christmas is supposed to spread.
Suddenly he grins again, head tipping up slightly in a rather jaunty manner. ”Oh, pish,” he scoffs. ”You like it or you wouldn't still be here.”
Whatever one might say about Fox, it could never be said that he lacks confidence.
He continues, not waiting for a response, ”Have you heard of Christmas? I suppose it has something to do with that.”
she's the bright hot sun in the cold night she's the cold black darkness in the starlight
She continued to scowl at him, her own anger rising with each new surge of happiness that he forced upon her. “Better to be a grump than a fool,” she finally managed, although even she had to admit it was not the best of comebacks. Still, there was only so much she could do when she was surrounded by a foreign joy, a feeling that was pressed firmly into her chest, made to live there even though she had no desire for it.
What an irritating little boy.
“Maybe I’m still here…” she started to answer before he continued to talk over her, and she huffed loudly in protest, her pretty face contorted with her frustration. Still, she waited and listened, her fluffy tail flicking uselessly behind her as she considered him. The magic of Christmas? That was absurd. The only magic was the kind that came from within; the kind that let her father pour magic and ice into the air around them, the kind that let her tap into the minds of her neighbors. The only alternative was the kind that was Beqanna and that was not a benevolent magic. That had destroyed homes, leveled kingdoms.
There was no such thing as the magic of Christmas.
Still, she tipped her head to the side and rooted through his thoughts, not bothering to be subtle about it. If he was going to force his powers on her, she wasn’t going to be courteous about her own. “You can control snow and ice too?” she said a little breathily, the promise of power the only thing to ease the sting of her voice. “Let me see.” She had only seen her father and brother control the elements before; it was difficult to imagine this fluffy, wide-eyed colt wielding the same control, but she was interested.
