"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
Astana is not in Nerine, not like she is supposed to. If Heartfire found out about this, (which Astana is learning she almost always finds out anything) she would be reprimanded. But she finds she leaves not because she does not care, but because she has to.
She is restless, but she has always been restless. Wanderlust courses through her veins, has been her family's to hold since the dawn of time when the first of her ancestors gazed out across the endless ocean for the first time. Today, it is hers however, and she cups it in her hands gently, like a baby bird, examining it from every perspective in the hopes that its confusing depths will reveal some of its secrets to her. Of course, wanderlust has its own idea of the situation and it will adhere to that code lest it be what it is not; the golden diamond eyed girl may be the only member of her family that enjoys it (it explains why she is here and they are not), but then, she had no worldly tie to that place or its people, not anymore. All that existed of her relationships has blown away on the breeze and while she cannot resent them for leaving, as she so longs to do the same, she cannot quite force herself to forgive them for leaving her. But the way they have not found her, her mother has not even slipped into her dreams. That hurts worst of all, she thinks as she pockets the wanderlust and wanders, not for the first time, into the foggy forest. She finds a small clearing, it would seem spring was taking its time breathing its life back into this place. It is mostly brown, and still colorless, barely large enough for twenty horses to stand nose to tail, and settles, rather unceremoniously in the sparse shade of a half dead tree.
She thinks, poor tree. This world is not all good and kind, but she does love it so and to see something ruined, dying, it puts her heart at unease.
Heartfire rules an entire kingdom, she cannot keep watch on Astana all the time, she has meetings to attend to and the big job of telling people what to do. So, what then of the adopted diamond eyed daughter of the Nerine Queen? Astana rests silently, watching as a confused doe leads her child into the clearing, pausing to look at the golden girl. “My loves,” she says, and they look up to see her staring intently at them, her heart breaking a thousand times for their confusion. ”There is no more life for that place to give, yet.” Astana wishes more than anything that they would understand, but the doe and her little child stare, startled, for a moment before disregarding the wind chime voice of the golden child altogether, and shuffle further into the more dense area of the forest. Astana stares somberly, letting those thoughts drown out.
She wonders then, where Kildare could have gone. The boy with eyes like spring had been the reason for her coming here. He was older than her, by a year or so. He was taller, with a handsome face and a coat as dark as the night. He was like shadows, but he had a smile that he wore like the sun. How a boy could be both night and day was beyond her little mind’s comprehension, but Kildare was able to wear both with such grace that often on their journey, those diamond eyes would watch him with mild curiosity. He was, to her, an enigma of sorts, a source of her ever constant fascination.
“Do you think adventure comes to those who wait? Or only to those who seek it?” She had asked Etoile one day as she stared over the vast expanse of dunes in their sandy home. Etoile had simply rolled her eyes and shook her head. This only encouraged Astana to keep talking. “I think it rests in everyone’s hearts, but it is so quiet in the beginning, that not everyone can hear it,” she says, to which Etoile responds that that was silly and foolish. Astana turned diamond eyes to her twin then, reckless grin all over that pretty face. “But I hear it, Etoile, I hear it,” she says defensively before she turns back once more to the horizon. “But—what is it saying?”
08-05-2019, 07:00 PM (This post was last modified: 08-05-2019, 07:01 PM by kildare.)
Kildare has grown up with typical "middle child" syndrome. It was Tarian who was too serious. Liam was never serious enough. His elder twin brothers had their faults but like most little brothers, Kildare was content to play a supporting role. There had been so much that he could learn from them. It had been Tarian who had taught him turn and twist his body, where to aim his strikes and how to pin his ears to his skull so he might be seen as fearsome. It had been Liam who taught Kildare what to say and when to say, how to strike a casual conversation with easy poise. Life could have been so simple, so easy if his parents hadn't felt the need to expand their already large family. Kildare would have been content to bask in his mother's loving admiration and to learn what his father had to teach him, lessons in honor and duty and family.
Life had been an easy, rational existence.
But then his mother had left for Liridon and came back with not one but two sisters. And it had seemed that since their arrival into his family, he had been ousted from the nest. Mina was irritatingly quiet. She simply stared up at him with those dark eyes so similar to Malachi's. Kildare would look down at her and wondering what, if anything, she was keeping to herself. And then there was Maren who was always too loud, too brash. While Liam might have been the social butterfly of the family, Maren was always joking and teasing in a way that rubbed him entirely the wrong way. She never stopped talking. And when Kildare would think he had finally found a moment for himself, a moment of peace from Mina's inquisitive gaze or Maren's endless stream of words, one of them would find him.
He tried not to complain. He tried to bear in with that same understanding patience that his father and mother always had. But the time had come for Kildare to make his own way into the world and for him to find his place in it. He had embraced his parents, bid the changling twins farewell and off he had went, ready to find his own adventure. His journey to Beqanna hadn't been as.. quiet as he thought it would be. As soon as he had thrown off the shackles of his younger sisters, a little girl had found him. It had been the last thing he wanted - another girl to watch out for. But the woods had been wide and wild and there is enough Legacy blood in him that he couldn't leave Astana alone. The pair had trekked here together. Astana had been full of questions and scenarios, of concerns and ideas. She had prattled on and on and on so often that Kildare often had to lose himself in his thoughts.
She was like a little bird, flitting from one topic to another, one question after the other.
But like a little bird, as soon as they had found themselves in Beqanna's borders, she had flown away. He had tried to tell himself it was for the best. Girls are only a hindrance anyways. And he hadn't really worried for her - Astana was smart. She was certainly a dreamer but Kildare had thought that if she found herself in any trouble, she would know how to find herself out of it. Kildare had been pretending like he hadn't been searching the Common Lands for her. The midnight colt has given every excuse under the sun as to why he hasn't gone out to seek a place for himself. He tries to tell himself it is the wilderness that calls him back here time and time again.
But he knows why he is really here so when his eyes finally rest on the white gold filly, there is a sense of relief. So she is whole and hasn't been swallowed up by some monster or taken by some tyrant. A deep nicker comes from him, slipping out before he has the chance to stop it. There goes his element of surprise. But Kildare smiles, a smile full of boyish teasing and a dimple emerges on side of his cheek. "Hey chickadee. Where did you fly off to?"
It had been a strange realization for the golden child, to realize that she and her twin sister were not their parents’ only children. Of course, they were the only children from Keav and Bastille, as no others existed. Astana had gone searching for Orani, had found her, standing there in a cerulean gown with starry eyes and the same smile as the mother they both shared. It had been some sort of illusion in a way. They had not known their mother to have other children. Their father, they had began to slowly meet their half siblings as they made their way into the desert. Astana realized that she and her twin were not the only ones created of starlight or sand. She wondered then, what made them so special? Sometimes, she still wonders such things.
Astana had always been happy to share the limelight with her sister. Etoile was beautiful in this quiet grace that made her almost as unattainable as the stars above. If there were anyone who physically encapsulate beauty, it would be her twin. Etoile spoke words like poetry and moved like a dancer. Astana believed if she could just be an ounce like her twin, maybe she would be special too.
Maybe, that is why she had come to Beqanna, why she had found Kildare ready to make his move and had latched onto him like pollen to a honey bee. She had looked into eyes of green and thought him wonderful, too wonderful to simply let him wriggle from her grasp. She had walked beside him, inciting stories of adventure. Everyone, it seems, has had an adventure but her. Her mother had lived for so many years, her grandfather had been a pirate of the seas, her father had escaped a dragon. Everyone was out there, living—except for her. Kildare was her ticket, of this she was certain.
Trouble was exactly where Astana had found herself soon after separating from Kildare when they arrived in Beqanna. She had found trouble in the form of a mare named Heartfire. A character in Astana’s story that had discovered the little child made of gold and diamonds and taken her home, kidnapped, but oh so willing to follow her. Astana made a new home in Nerine, following the mare around like any good child does to a mother surrogate. She enjoys asking questions about kingdoms and rulers, about history and tales of old. Hearfire departs wisdom upon the child, many pieces going over her head due to her strong lack of age, but she tries to comprehend none the less, storying the knowledge for another day when Heartfire’s words will ring in her ears and save her from many mishaps as she continues to grow older.
Ears swivel atop her head as she hears the approach of another. She is taken away form her thoughts, back when she had lived in that desert with her family, and brought back to Beqanna, the smell that causes her own nostrils to quiver is familiar. She turns that pretty golden heard of hers and turns diamond eyes in his direction, meeting his own that look like tiny emeralds standing out against his dark skin. “Kildare,” she breathes sweetly against his name as still long, yearling legs begin to move towards him. “I could ask you the same thing,” she says with wide diamond eyes sparkling as the light catches them. “I met someone,” is what Astana says to answer his question. Heartfire has told her time and time again not to trust males. Astana cannot deny though, that Kildare did not seem like those males Heartfire spoke about. “Her name is Heartfire, Queen of Nerine, and I live with her now,” she says, unable to describe what had actually happened. Astana has yet to realized what had occurred had actually been kidnapping. She thinks that Heartfire was merely her new friend, her new guardian to guide her on the journey. “It is really pretty, I could show you sometime,” she offers excitedly, eager to share her home with another. “Where are you now Kildare? Are you still just roaming around?” She asks, little golden ears reaching forward to catch his words. Diamond eyes study his face, his eyes making her think of warm days beneath the shade of a canopy of green leaves, waving out in front of the sun like an emerald cloud.
Kildare's existence (up until this point anyway) had been a simple one. His parents loved each other, were devoted to each other. There was no one that Malachi had called to his heart. It had been Kalina, always had been Kalina. It was a favorite story of his sire with his dark eyes dancing, with them glowing with love and mirth. He had told it so many times that all his children knew it by heart but there was comfort in the repetition of it, in the knowledge that his dappled father would have moved mountains and heavens for his mate and children. The black colt had long pretended to outgrow those stories, the sappy ones that made his sister's eyes go round and soft with romance but Kildare would glance to his mother in those moments.
Kalina had been born with, cursed with half a heart. She shouldn't have been allowed to love. And yet there had been stubborn Malachi, so sure in his belief that Kalina loved him and their children. He was unshakeable in that. In those moments though, he thought he saw what his father say. He saw love and compassion and kindness in her dual-toned gaze. He had seen faith and hope and empathy. There was too much emotion in Kalina's eyes to believe that she couldn't feel them, had never felt them before.
Kildare thought that like perhaps like a departed spirit, like an intangible feeling that wraps around, they had been there all along. All that was needed was the belief like his father had fervently believed, that Kalina had always been capable of it.
Malachi is the reason he can't leave Astana alone. He can't leave her behind without knowing that she is truly safe. No matter where he is, who he becomes, there will always be a part of Kildare that remains true to the Legacy blood that flows in his veins. He thinks, he hopes anyways, that by knowing where Astana is, that where she is staying is safe, will allow hi to release the hold she has somehow put on him. He hopes that like a fledgling bird, she will be able to leave the nest and he can move on.
But the truth of it all is that Astana has already flown. She is soaring and Kildare isn't quite ready to give her the sky yet.
When he finds her again, it is mingled with relief and some aggravation. By finding her again, he can no longer deny that his concern for her welfare is a fleeting one. He is admitting to himself that this relationship they have forged will be lifelong and there will be more meetings like this, Kildare's way of trying to ensure that his fellow Beyonder is safe and content and perhaps (does he dare to aspire to this?), happy. Somehow this has fallen on him and Kildare accepts its tentatively, unsure what to do with yet.
When she says his name, a smile curves on his midnight lips. His green eyes flick over her, making sure that all four legs are accounted for and there are no open wounds, gashes, anything that indicates pain and peril. Finding nothing, they come to rest on her pretty golden face. He listens to her, coming slightly closer to invite further conversation. At her words, his emerald eyes spark. "Did you?" and he really grins then, reckless and wild. "He can't be as tall or dark or handsome I am though." His face glows with pleasure, warm and inviting Astana to laugh along with him.
Heartfire, she says. Kildare wants to think that this is it. She is safe and this Heartfire is the releasing has been looking for. But something nags at the colt and refuses to completely free him of this bond. The smile recedes and becomes more contemplative as the colt tries to convince himself that Astana will be fine. "I'll take you up on it," he adds as he comes to the decision that the only way to be sure of anything is to see Nerine and meet Heartfire. When he has done that, the wide world and all its promises will still be waiting. At her next question, the grin comes back, lopsided and complacent. "Where have I not been?" he asks, a dimple emerging in his left cheek. "There's a whole world to roam. It seems a shame to stay in one place when you have it waiting for you."
She remembers in the desert, she had been starting to keep to herself. Staring out across the dunes she had wondered why they would stay in one place, especially when she has heard the stories her parents have told her. There was so much else beyond their world of sand, aching to be explored, to be seen with eyes of diamond. Why they lived in such a tiny part of it was beyond Astana’s own comprehension. It was not her fault though, this strange emotions that wracked her heart whenever she looked out across the horizon and wondered just how long it stretched for. The dull ache of wanderlust in her bones was a gift from her mother, the traveler who had, in Astana’s eyes at least, seen the world. She had conquered great heights, met great people, and seen great things. Astana looked at her mother with such longing and confusion. Why could she not take her twin daughters on an adventure?
It was that question that had lingered in Astana’s belly, filling it with fire until she had made that fateful decision to leave. It wasn't forever, or so she thought, but the world called to her and Astana had been willing to listen.
Astana would not deny the joy she felt with the fact that Kildare had not been able to just simply leave her side. Maybe it was partially because she had remained glued to him for most of the journey like a gum stuck to someone’s shoe. Though, she likes to think it is more that he didn't quite want to leave her. It makes her warm and fuzzy, makes a smile sparkle on her young face. She is entirely unaware of the hold she has gained on him, and maybe if she had been aware she might have used it to her advantage, but, for now, she is just content on him finding her amidst the forest trees.
Diamond eyes see him and she is content. Kildare’s face alone could be enough to turn her day into something special. He has not left her, in fact, it felt a little like he has been exactly where she left him. Like a china doll tucked on a shelf, taken and admired at whenever she wanted to see something familiar and pretty. Something to make her eyes light up when the days will grow grey and cloudy.
He smiles. It was all she needed. His dark face is curved with handsome features, and his eyes are as green as ever, Astana has always found them to be a pair of depthless beauties. Something that, if she stared too long, she could fully lose herself within. She mimics his steps with some her own, bringing them ever closer to each other. A distance that Astana can say she quite enjoys. “Taller, definitely,” she says, looking him up and down with eyes made of diamond. “And I may go as far to say more handsome too,” she says with a giggle, jesting with the dark colt that was slowly starting to grow from a leggy child like herself into a young stallion. “Though certainly not as dark,” she adds, thinking back to Heartfire’s own coat.
Astana hardly understand her current circumstances with Heartfire, a ward of sorts, because ward sounds a lot better than kidnapping. “She is really great,” she adds when Kildare does not instantly share in her excitement over Nerine’s queen. Instead, that smile seems to almost falter, causing Astana to shift under his emerald eyed gaze. “Yeah, you really should,” she says, hoping this was no false promise. Though, Astana has come to realize that Kildare was hardly the sort. “We could build a sandcastle or just play in the ocean, I haven't gone in yet,” she admits. For a child of the desert, that has never seen the ocean, it was wild and imposing for one so young. Her wide eyes had hardly been able to contain it all, as she finally understood the magic of the vast amount of water that her mother had so dearly loved.
Then why had she stayed in the desert? The question rings again, but Astana buries it beneath Kildare’s company.
“That is what I have been saying my entire life,” she says, exasperated, but pleased, someone finally got the words she had been speaking since the time she could talk. “Do you regret it?” She then questions, but there is an edge to her voice, as if this were some sort of challenge for him to conquer. “Leaving Beyond, your family?” She smiles. “Because I think this may have been the best decision we have ever made.”
09-02-2019, 10:46 AM (This post was last modified: 09-02-2019, 10:49 AM by kildare.)
Maybe if Malachi had succeeded in finding a place for his family, Kildare wouldn’t have wondered about the horizons he saw at the top of the Pass. Maybe if he had grown up in Paraiso or Murmuring Rivers or Culloden, he would have been contented with what he had been given and the black colt would have grown up to be a stallion like his sire and grandsire before him: committed to serving the needs of others, dedicated to family, being brave and noble in the face of darkness and the evils of the world.
Tarian was the one who was wrapped up in duty. Liam had shirked his as easily as a fledgling sheds their downy wings. Kildare had been somewhere in the middle – he would have stayed if there had been no other option. He would have stayed if he felt that his family needed him.
But they had Malachi and they had Tarian. His silver father, perhaps not wishing to make the same mistakes he did with his eldest sons, had given Kildare his blessing to roam the world with the promise that he was always able to return to his family. That he would carry their love with him no matter where he went.
He carries that love and should the day come that he finds he wants to leave Beqanna, he will honor that promise. Kildare will return to his family.
Kildare, however, doesn’t want to be defined by them. While he adores his father, Malachi had the mold in his mind of what a Legacy should be. It was fitting into that cookie-cutter description that seemed to fray his relationship with his sons. Another Legacy son trying to live up the unsurmountable legacy of the father that came before. Kildare, having grown up with the arguments of his elder brothers and their sire, had decided that it was far easier to be himself than struggle to fit that mold.
As much distance that he puts between himself and his family, they still manage to come out in the words, the actions, the mannerisms that the dark colt carries.
”Taller?” His brows rise in mock surprise. And then with an exaggerated exhale, the young stallion manages to look away from Astana. His green eyes fix on some unknown thought. Kildare turns his gaze back to her. ”My lady,” he says, the words laced with sarcasm. ”You wound me. And here I thought I was alone in your affections.” The expression on his face could almost be taken for a pout if it wasn’t for the laughter that echoes in his green eyes, making them seem impossibly brighter and greener.
She giggles and her next words release the grin that comes lop-sided. ”Well at least I have that going for me.” Astana continues to speak about Heartfire. She really is great. While Kildare doesn’t doubt that the diamond girl finds her so, the ebony colt has to wonder what a queen is doing with a little bird like Astana. He could leave the thought there and he tries - but it nags incessantly at him, warning him that there could be something.. less than ideal about his traveling companion’s new living situation.
The girl talks on about oceans and sandcastles, in a way that reminds him of his younger sisters. More babysitting. But he nods, his mind already calculating how long the journey to Nerine will take him before he can continue down the coast. ”We’ll make a day of it. Sandcastles and swimming. I’ll tag along to make sure you don’t become some delicious snack for a sea creature.” He winks at her then, pleased with his reply.
Her next statement makes him shake his head softly, understanding Astana’s reasoning but also knowing that it isn’t a lifestyle for most. It can be a hard one to comprehend for those poor earthbound souls.
Kildare contemplates her question, his face becoming serious in his thoughts. Regret? Did he regret leaving them? Another moment and his lips press in concentration, sorting through the thoughts and decisions that lead him to Beqanna. ”No,” and then he finally looks back to Astana. ”And my Glam used to say there are no regrets, only lessons.” The pursing lines break into a smile and Kildare grins at her again, ”What about you, chickadee? Have you learned any lessons from this whole ordeal?”
