"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
Time has passed. Her time with Romek had come to an end, and her first time laying eyes on Warrick has gone less than favorable. Not that she cared all that much. She has seen his dealings - and the young Overseer has much to answer for.
Within the shadow of the volcano, She walks quietly, her mind quietly pressing out for the bay and navy stallion. There was much to discuss - on a private arena, where they could get to know each other. Warrick needs to know Reagan -
and Reagan needs to know Warrick.
The Volcano is rumbling, and the Sun is hanging low in the sky. She's tired and cranky. Ceara's pregnancy had not been an easy one - She did not think her latest would be any easier. Offspring was a large man - his children were not the smallest. Yet still...
He is not exactly thrilled with the way their previous conversation had gone, and when the magician calls to him, his ears flick backward into his mane with a trill of annoyance, his muscles coiling uneasily beneath the auburn of his skin. Warrick has always been a peaceful creature, with diplomacy always at the forefront of his mind, but he realizes that Reagan does not play by those rules and he will need to adjust accordingly before their next conversation. The woman is likely the most powerful creature he has ever witnessed, and though her presence is intimidating (which he feels like Reagan enjoys), he is not hesitant to stride up before her, cobalt wings folded neatly into his sides, the feathers ruffling slightly as he flexes the lithe bone.
“Reagan,” he says indifferently, a tiny nod of his head towards her in greeting. He watches her carefully, not at all surprised that Ceara is her daughter - he can see the fire beneath the woman’s eyes that match the ferocity of the young mare - but he is surprised that she has sought him out. He had been hoping that Reagan would disappear into the volcano’s shadow and remain there until she no longer wished to reside in Tephra (he can tell she holds no true affection for the land, but her loyalty and adoration is to Offspring and he perhaps is the only reason she remains - and he [and Ceara] is perhaps the only reason Warrick allows her to).
The previous correspondence had been riddled with rife emotion and unsettled qualms, which Warrick suggested she delve into outside of their borders - the magic woman is powerful and the fire in her eyes when she recognized Romek was not one of understanding - she had been ready to kill the man, and Warrick would not have been surprised if she had engulfed him in flames or threw him into the pits of the volcano. Whatever had been her plan, Warrick had requested her anger (and unlimited power) leave Tephra out of it.
She had not responded well to the suggestion, turning her burning gaze and heated words onto Warrick which left him with a terrible first impression of the grey woman. He had seen hide nor hair of the one called Romek, and he wonders if she had successfully gotten rid of him and satisfied her need for a pound of flesh.
He halts squarely before her, the thickness of his black forelock falling into the cobalt of his cool gaze, the humid wind then brushing it to the side of his face. The afternoon is beginning to give way into evening, and their shadows are elongated on the brittle dry grass of the mainland, a orange haze befalling them as dusk sets in. He keeps his thoughts steady, not knowing what she truly is capable of and attempting to rid himself of anything that would create a more tense situation than there already is.
“Good evening,” he states simply, rolling his shoulders slightly and trying to relax beneath the icy stare of the woman before him.
"Good evening," she says. He does not look pleased to see her. Though that is something she expects. He is not a man easily cowed under - something that would have otherwise been intolerable in a King.
Maybe there is hope for him yet.
"I wanted to apologize, however briefly, for what happened when Romek visited. Our past is - complicated. Why he would come come back now, after all that has happened; It is something I will never fully understand. And now, without answers - I probably never will."
And then, she briefly relays the story of what happened from within the Taiga. Within her kingdom. History that was too painful to repeat - and when it ended with the demise of the forest, and the day that her magic had betrayed her, she falls silent, the seriousness of the moment like a heavy hammer between them.
"I do not wish his death. I wish for closure. I am as much to blame for what happened as he - probably more. I cannot think of one, more culpable, than I - or one with more to lose."
But then, her eyes graze across his face, and she, despite her size, sets her gaze on him. "But despite this - I am not accustomed to being ordered about like a common scullery maid." The evening tolls on, and the sun is slowly going down as the shadows are becoming more exaggerated round them. The shadow of him falls across her, and as an aside, she looks to see the fullness of her figure scattered about on the ground. She was not used to showing quite this early. And she was nearly always hungry.
Having to stop to have this rather arduous conversation is the longest she has been without food in days. Her stomach growls audibly, and a grouchy countenance settles upon her features. "Tephra is my home, as I have already said. However it came to be so, it has my loyalty. As do you - should you request it. But make no mistake, my dear Warrick," another stomach grumble, and a more sour expression. "I am not a woman to be crossed lightly."
Something she would not normally have outloud if she had been of her right mind.
There is an air about her that lets him know that there is definitely going to be more going on here than just a simple good evening and how are you doing? conversation, and the young Overseer hopes that his aura comes off the same (and if not, she will soon realize it) - much has happened between the two, who are barely acquaintances, beneath the Tephran sun. His agitation shows within the hollows of his hard face and a rigid jawline, fraught with intensity and stoicism. However his displeasure with the way the situation had gone, the bay stallion would not ignore her request to meet with him, for he understands most of all that the majority of anger and strife stems from something much more than just general grumpiness or a fire-quick temper - something more is at play here within the grey woman’s eyes, and he will forever be a willing listener.
Her apology is first and honestly takes him by surprise - enough so that the tightness of his face relax slightly, and his ears that were tipped back indifferently now prick forward - he had not been expecting one, nor for it to be the first thing to fly from her mouth. She keeps him guessing, and his heart skips a beat as he remembers having the same notion about her red and ebony daughter. He snorts softly and clears his mind, listening intently to her apology (which is genuine, he observes, when she flashes memories of what haunts her through his mind) and his cobalt eyes even show a bit of empathy for her - leaving him speechless as her memories bring back his own, recalling the moment he lost his family during the Reckoning.
Her eyes upon him are grave and cold, though she is not attempting to appear sinister or malicious. He flicks his gaze to her from the corner of his eye, a brow twitching almost amusedly as she scoffs at the idea of her being a maid. He rolls his shoulders, turning to his face towards her as she continues - the growl of her stomach is unquestionable, and his lips press together thinly as another growl rips through her. “You have made me fully aware,” he muses sternly, his quiet gaze resting on hers. “You know that I have risen beneath the shadow of Offspring, and he delights in your presence - I would never even wish to take away a being he obviously cares for..” He pauses, blinking thoughtfully. “You mistake my intention that day as I have mistaken the place of your anger. I hadn’t meant to offend you, or make you feel as if I didn’t know who you are, or that you are not welcome amongst us. The soil of Taiga runs with blood and tears, and a stranger from there, coupled with the bite in your voice, made it all too clear that Tephra would not the place to solve such a matter.
I believe you when you say your loyalty belongs to Tephra - to us - because I have seen how your loyalty belonged to Taiga when it reigned. If you are loyal to Tephra, Tephra will be loyal to you. If you are loyal to me, I will be loyal to you. ”
A pledge, or a truce perhaps, is offered between the two as Warrick’s voice falls away, the dying sun painting the duo with streams of gold and bronze, the shadows stretching beneath their hooves across the golden plains of meadowland before them.
“But know that I welcome you here, Reagan, not only because of Offspring, but because - like you said - you are not to be crossed lightly.” He can recognize strength when he sees it, and he would be foolish to cast her aside. Then, with almost something of a chuckle, he admits: “And I hope you know that neither am I.”
