"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
It's a strange thing to stand upon these lands. No inkling of how she arrived or if she would stay. The buckskin majesty stood, nostrils flared and tulip shaped ears pulled back in fleeting anxiety. Tossing her large head the painted lady made her way further into the expanse of dying grass. Crisp autumn air tugged at her salt and peper mane eagerly, whispering to her of magic and secrets untold. Liquid amber irises wash over the few fleeting figures that she has joined, only staying upon each long enough to gague their apperance and distance from herself. She wanders towards the lake, finding comfort in the crashing of the waters above. Its quiet despite the noise here and she is confronted by the fall chill and how alone it was here. In the distance she hears the chatter of forest creatures and other equines alike. In any other situation she might find herself wandering towards the sounds, aserting herself in any conversation she could find. Now though, now she is timid and overwhelmed by the scenes around her. No broken memories or twisted shapes alluded to how she arrived in this strange land. She was at a loss for her own existance, only fragments of who she was filled her lobe and created a blurred image of how she was to carry herself. Cruved neck gave way to large head and raised brow, sloping back arched into round rump and strong legs. Tendrils of mixed black and graying white wrapped around her hind legs like ivy and curled inward to drag upon the dying ground. Everything here was dying. Trees were slowly dropping their leaves and the earth was giving way to the bite of the coming winter. Animals preparied hurriedly for the coming snow and equines made their ways to warmer lands. Autumn was a slow and trying time for many. Especially those like the woman who did not belong where she stood now. Like many lost items she felt misplaced here in the field painted by the harsh tangerine and scarlet of the setting sun. She lets a breathy sigh out and leans into the sinking dirt below her. She's tired now, too tired to care if others approach. Too tired for the trivial ways of speaking and making merry with those around her. Now she wishes to rest.
All that is gold does not glitter; not all who wander are lost
The autumn season was sort of split in two - first, during the lingering heat of summer, there was breeding season - a time of hotheadedness for most horses. He’s no different - he likes to think he’s no slave to his cravings but honestly he gave in, again - well it’s not like he regrets it ever, or so far, but it’s truth.
Then comes the real cooldown; when the hormones are satisfied the logic wins it, and most horses find themselves a place to survive the winter. A warm land or a warm herd - and while Aodhán has the potential to offer both, he still is searching for his true home much like anybody in the Field.
But he knows where to point someone to, he supposes. Perhaps Noah will be grateful if he fills the Pampas with life somehow; if he fails she’s none the wiser. Or perhaps Ischia suits the mare he sees now, more. Only one way to find out.
The male, dressed up in a kelpie-like form today though lacking most of their features (he just has the gills and tail really), reaches the shore quickly. Changing back into a fully normal horse, he stands still before the tired-looking mare, trying to estimate her before he speaks.
Finally the gold-spotted male finds his words. ”I take it you’re looking for a place to rest?” he deduces. He sounds a little hesitant, as he knows he is probably disturbing her but still decided to address her because he thinks it might be for a good cause, in the end.
Emerald waters bristle and part as the kelpie stag emerges. His spotted sides drip with water and the soft musk of algae and saltwater filter through her nostrils as he approaches. Honey hues wander over his bodice and the buckskin has soon decided that the man before her would pose no threat to her at the moment. Though judging from their almost identical sizes it would not quite matter if he did wish to challenge her.
However, all hair rippling thoughts were quickly dismissed when his voice broke the quiet in the friendliest way possible. "I take it you're looking for a place to rest?"
There's a short pause in his tone as though he was nervous of interrupting her moment of rest. Almost strangely she does not mind how he lacks introduction or any other type of formality. The woman did love it when people cut to the chase.
"I take it you are offering said place?"
The voice that replies is a soft and flowing like liquid silk. Pretty white-tipped ears tilt towards the stranger before her, curiosity winning her over.
"If so I am Eileithyia and would not mind a safe place to rest my head."
Tilting ever so slightly checkered mane falls over twinkling eyes that roam over the stallion (not in any other way than to observe). They trace over his hindquarters all the way to the tips of his ears. He seems kind to the painted lady and she cocks a hind hoof to display just how unbothered she was by his presence. Hopefully, the small talk and lack of teeth would ease his nervous demeanor.
All that is gold does not glitter; not all who wander are lost
The Field, as all horses native know, is the place to pick up recruits. Sometimes, they can also be found in the meadow, forest or river, most start out here - directed here by other residents perhaps who otherwise don’t know where to point them, or willingly coming here to find a new home. Aodhán had skimmed the place himself as well, though the mare he’d followed home (long after their meeting) and he no longer lived together all too peacefully. He still somewhat blamed her, but he knew she blamed him in return and why. He couldn’t deny she had a point, but it still felt like she did nothing to meet him in the middle.
This mare might be an asset for both, he had mused - or really, anyone as long as the Pampas had some new faces that could be friendly with both.
The spotted baroque grins a bit at the answer he receives, fully assembling his normal horse-shape back as she speaks. He nods at her first question, and continues their conversation with the ease of any extraverted male talking to a pretty woman, any previous uncertainty about her willingness to even talk to him now gone due to her remarks and stance. She’s direct and he appreciates that, and he’s not naturally shy either - but he comes off that way sometimes, having learned that sometimes his attention is not wanted or needed. ”I’m Aodhán, and I live in the Brilliant Pampas at the moment. It’s a herd-land, protected by the currently largest kingdom in Beqanna; Loess. Not that we do anything political - besides some internal skirmishing I guess. But it’s the prettiest home I’ve had in my life.” His short speech is to the point and just detailed enough not to give her any surprises should she meet the herd leader, he thinks. ”Do you think that suits you? There are more ambitious places I could tell you about if you want.”
