"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
Once Aletta had found her, there was nothing she could do but stay. Part of her had argued to leave the child. Go, she had told herself. The mother would be back, eventually. And wasn’t this the mother’s fault? What kind of dam in her right mind left a child this young alone?
Sabra - bleeding and broken - comes into her mind, moaning about girls and graves. Brynn - sad-eyed and hollow - haunts her memories, with stories about thefts and the Donietas.
So the gray mare waits. And waits.
The sun peaks and starts to descend in the west. Aletta grazes on the meadow grasses nearby, keeping an attentive eye on the golden filly. The gray mare tries not to grow irritable with the heat (but she has always hated humidity - and the flies!) Her white tail swishes in annoyance as she stops to look for the filly again, keeps an almost vigilant watch on the girl from where she stood.
Another mare comes with a colt by her side but when the boy grows too rambunctious (too close), Aletta pins her ears and stamps her front leg in disapproval. The pair doesn’t stay long after that. The summer wind drifts in; the child’s mother, unfortunately, does not.
When the sun starts sinking low does the pale mare notice the abrupt motion of the girl’s head raise up, as if she was suddenly unaware of where she was. The silver mare lifted her own and watched the filly, wondering if the child had perhaps caught the scent of her mother. Her little nostrils flare and the foal skittishly stands. Aletta nickered gently - letting the girl know she was there - and the poor child’s face crumpled.
Aletta wasn’t a mind-reader (and she kept waiting for the child to speak - why hadn’t she?) but the look on her young face was clear enough before the tears began to run: fear.
you can run but you can't hide breath on your skin, I've arrived
She has felt the pull for a while now. Had recognized it as the same whisper that had woken her months ago, but stronger. She hadn't imagined ignoring it would make it vanish, but she had hoped time would temper it.
Especially when she had finally realized exactly what (or rather who) it was.
But the fear draws her. Her life has never been a suitable one for children, but even though it has long been buried deep, a living heart still beats beneath it all. And the fear unsettles her, stirring a long suppressed instinct. Though she does not answer it heedlessly, she does (finally) answer.
She knows what this means, of course. Once acknowledged, the girl would be vulnerable. Not just to the heartache she had been born into, but also that which follows Heartfire, a weighty stone she could not shake.
But as she breaks into the clearing bordering the slow summer currents of the river, it could no longer be helped.
She doesn't announce her arrival. It would be unneeded. Just as she knew exactly where they were, no doubt Aela would know she was close. Her own ineffable calm counters the young filly's fear as she approaches, eyes skimming over the dapple gray mare before falling to the red and gold youth.
"I've been expecting you," she offers by way of greeting. As though she had not been the one to crash their solitude.
06-26-2020, 02:40 PM (This post was last modified: 06-26-2020, 02:43 PM by aletta.)
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It’s been a while since she has been alone with a child. Years, in fact. And it had been different then because those children had been hers (and as time passed, her grandchildren). Aletta looks down at the little girl, recounting the moments that have led to the years since she has last tried to comfort one.
A mother five times over, the urge to soothe comes easily enough. It’s just that the golden filly takes a step back when Aletta tries to come forward and is reminded each time that this is not a child of her bloodline. That really, this shouldn’t be any of her concern. It’s not her responsibility.
The gray mare sighs and lifts her head, looking to the deepening shadows of the treeline for some sign of a guardian. There is only the chirping of crickets and darkening shades that indicate the day is ending for company. Her dark eyes try to pierce the darkness but there is nothing to find. Aletta sighs, glancing down to the little blonde girl who has stood stoically still. It would have been admirable, if the gray mare wasn’t seeing it in one so young. What was she going to do?
The girl wouldn’t let her to come closer and Aletta couldn’t leave her.
"Can you give me a name, sweeting?” she tries again, taking on the tone that she had often used with Tarian and Liam. The girl says nothing, just stares up with those wide blue eyes.
('Aela’, the girl had thought. But who heard her?)
The girl follows by tossing her slender head but no words come. The motion offers no insight to a name or a parent or a clue to where she belongs.
Glancing towards the west, the sun sinks lowers behind the trees and the clearing becomes haloed in varying shades of red and gold. The foal visibly calms when she looks over her shoulder, revealing a blue woman who appeared illuminated despite the dusk. Aletta assumes at first that this must be the girl's mother and there is a verbal lashing waiting for her, when she comes close enough to hear it.
She’s wrong, though. While there is familiarity in the glance between the blue-eyed mare and the gold-barred filly, Aletta thinks that the approaching mare has as much claim to the girl as she does. The other mare speaks and the former Regent can feel her cool expression darken with distrust.
Aletta doesn’t look at the girl again. Had she been a ploy? Everything about this encounter feels, as @[Heartfire] indicated, deliberate. Expected. She bristles with anger and it sparks behind her almost black eyes. The former Regent - always direct - would rather know, "why?"
aletta we turned our back on ordinary from the start
you can run but you can't hide breath on your skin, I've arrived
Why, she demands. And isn’t that always the question? The niggling desire to know more pressing forever at the back of one’s skull?
Of course, Aletta couldn’t know the statement hadn’t been meant for her. Suspicion of such an impossible claim is only natural. Unfortunately, despite Heartfire’s understanding of it, it does not make her any more inclined to explain. Especially when any explanation would mean admitting even she doesn’t know all of the answers. Or all the why’s.
The one’s like, why this filly? Of all the descendants born to her line thus far, why would this one bond in such an unusual way with her? As far as she could tell, she had inherited none of her abilities. There is nothing in her presence or thoughts to suggest a reason. And while she is certain there must be one, she has become increasingly convinced it lies elsewhere.
After what is no doubt an interminable stretch of silence to the gray mare, Heartfire finally shifts her gaze from the filly, a faint sigh escaping her lips as her sharp blue eyes flick towards their companion. “Not you,” she finally clarifies, though clarify is perhaps a loose definition of the statement. “Aela.”
She allows the corners of her lips to kick up slightly. A half-hearted attempt at any sort of cordiality, but better than none. After all, the woman had had no obligation to stand guard over a lost child as she had. “I appreciate the time you’ve given to ensure her safety. Now that I am here though, I’m certain you have much better things to occupy yourself with.”
While the last may sound like nothing more than a friendly suggestion, only a fool would take it as such. And given her response to her arrival, Aletta doesn’t strike Heartfire as a fool.
07-11-2020, 08:03 PM (This post was last modified: 07-11-2020, 08:10 PM by aletta.)
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The filly is studying Heartfire so intensely that it unsettles Aletta. While the gray mare hadn't been permitted to come any closer than within a walking stride, the girl has turned her head around and watches the blue roan mare with endlessly blue eyes. Aletta's dark-eyed gaze moves from the approacher to the foal, waiting. While the girl doesn't do anything more, the filly is regarding Heartfire with what appears to be... familiarity?
Aletta frowns slightly, moving her attention back to newcomer. It's the wrong shade of blue, she tells herself for the second time. (And perhaps that's the problem with looking - you see what hope for in every face you encounter.)
Her gaze hardens but she refrains from snorting. (The name distracts her from the temper that isn't as iron-clad as it once had been.) "Aela," Aletta murmurs softly. The girl - Aela she corrects herself - looks back and lifts her head. Her dainty ears prick forward but the pale mare doesn't say anything more. What she was going to say - something demanding, more answers perhaps - gets lost in the lump of her throat. Messenger? she thinks. There are coincidences found everywhere, she reminds herself. They are littered through life and nature. They stream across it like shooting stars in the heavens.
But the girl has a name that shares a language (hers, from those damned mountains, from her sire) and meaning with Aletta's firstborn. Malachi has been gone for years, she reminds herself.
Heartfire is attempting cordiality, a slight smile that curves above her tell-all blue eyes. Aletta can't find a smile. Not when she feels as though she has been dealt a physical blow. "I do," she replies, more severe than intended. She should be returning to Nerine. Scorch would no doubt be looking for her. The tattooed mare seemed to find Aletta's disregard for kingdom borders amusing though slightly worrisome. She moves as though she turns to go and the girl has moved closer to Heartfire, giving Aletta the visual proof she needed that Aela belonged with the roan mare. She angles herself away from them but then the setting sun glints of the iridescent blue sheen of the filly's markings and catches her eye. Aletta stops and turns to look at them both again.
Looking at Aela makes her grief - something she has kept at bay since Brynn died - darken her eyes and hoarsen her voice: "You both have somewhere to go?" She asks brusquely before settling her attention on the supernatural eyes of @[Heartfire].
aletta we turned our back on ordinary from the start
you can run but you can't hide breath on your skin, I've arrived
A part of her had expected the gray mare to argue her rather abrupt dismissal. She doesn’t strike Heartfire as one who easily accepts things. Had she the time and inclination, she might have dug deeper, but at the moment she had neither. Still, she does have to give her credit when she does not immediately reject Heartfire’s suggestion.
She is well aware that her brusque approach often sets others on edge, especially those of more forceful personalities. But it speaks well of Aletta’s ability to read in between the lines that she chooses acceptance as the better part of valor. Either that, or she hadn’t cared a great deal in the first place. But then, anyone who didn’t care wouldn’t have waited around that long either.
Regardless, it serves to blunt the sharpest of her edges as she watches the other mare turn to go. Even when she pauses to peer back at them, Heartfire finds her own generosity improved. So much so that, rather than dismissing the other woman’s concern as she might have moments earlier, she finds herself curious. Though perhaps a curious Heartfire is not altogether a better outcome.
Still, it takes her only a moment to discover where the woman had most recently come from, and who she is acquainted with. A ghost of amusement flits through her as she realizes the implications. “We do,” she replies, her soft tone a stark contrast to the brusque hoarseness of Aletta’s. “But thank you.”
With a slight tilt of her head, indicates silently to Aela they should depart as well. As Aletta had moments earlier, Heartfire too pauses to glance at her, though her words are far more wry than grief-stricken. “Until next time.”
