"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
08-07-2020, 01:26 PM (This post was last modified: 08-13-2020, 08:06 PM by Aela.)
The heat is insufferable and Aela snorts sharply. Her refined head lowers and then rises, trying to shake away the insects that have followed her down this trail. A forelimb lifts and stomps - much like her perpetually annoyed half-brother had delightfully taught her - but the little creatures continue to buzz around her head, seeming to enjoy her delicate golden ears the most. (Kota has told her many times that she is sweet. It would seem the pests agree with her mother.)
Aela normally takes pride in being quiet. She takes pride in her ability to go unnoticed. It’s an easy thing to be noticed - all it takes is a show or display like the one she is putting on now. The almost palomino yearling snorts, softer than before but still apparently more agitated with the gnats than with herself.
She ventures from the shade (perhaps that was part of the problem?) and walks away from where the trees gather together in clumps and clusters. The golden girl walks until there is enough space for the sunbeams to keep her company. A pine stands here, an oak there but they no longer have the numbers to crowd. A sound makes her stop.
It’s the bubbling and babbling sound of the River. Aela - despite the sweltering heat - has no desire to venture that way. Where do you want to go? she asks herself. Back to Taiga? To the Meadow for the chance of finding Kensley again? To Nerine to agitate angsty Wherewolf (a favorite pastime of hers)? Her mind considers the options while a different sound - one that isn’t the wild, rushing River - presents her with another one.
Turning her head with an equal mixture of apprehension and youthful curiosity, she decides to go looking for it.
08-12-2020, 04:15 PM (This post was last modified: 08-13-2020, 03:02 AM by Meyer.)
Meyer does not mind much of anything. It is easier to retreat into himself, to keep his mouth shut and to do as he is bid. A young colt, perhaps just shy of a few years (though no one in his life thus far has bothered to help him keep track of such a small thing); and a small thing he is. Long legs slicked in a mud-caked black, a stark contrast to the warm amber and nutmegs of his unmarked hide (it is easy enough to disguise the consequences), he is built for speed and stamina rather than brute strength. He tosses his forelock to one side, ducking his head to cast a furtive glance into a particular sinister bit of shadows, his skin crawling over gaunt ribs with the anticipation of finding Niklas' dark chuckle in amongst them. A beat, and then another passes and he holds his breath until the wind shifts and the threat is gone - for the moment, at least.
The trees sway with the vibrant scents of summer, drawn into a familiar ritual of give and take. He enjoys it, the feel of the sun dappling his back, the warm touch. The grass underfoot and at the back of his tongue – the aloneness. He wonders how long it will last, brown eyes clouded in thought. How long before they come looking for him? Not all of the lessons learned from the dark magician who had raised him had been bad … but his “brother” (even now, he loathes to call him such because somehow he knows that the affectation should hold some different meaning) is ill-controlled, even by his father, and he loves nothing more than to use the useful. And, unfortunately for him, Meyer is one of the most useful.
As he moves further inland, drifting away from the river, the trees begin to thin out. The temperature rises steadily and its early afternoon when he finally stops, sweat darkening his coat. He sighs, a low rattling sound. What if he never grows accustomed to being on his own? The sound of a squirrel shuffling through the undergrowth pulls him from his brooding. He pins his ears when it gets close, snaking his head out and gnashing his teeth. It was not that they all belonged to Set, but the potential is always there and he is so incredibly tired of the shackles … He stomps and snorts, bucking and squealing in a wild fit that leaves him heaving and drenched and glaring.
08-13-2020, 07:59 PM (This post was last modified: 08-13-2020, 08:06 PM by Aela.)
Aela minds everything. She has to. If she comes to close to some unsuspecting soul, they could overwhelm her with a fearful memory - of the reason why they run. Come to close to a lone mare and the loss in her eyes could reveal something more - the absence of a child could echo out. Encounter a spirit filled or fueled by anger, she might receive something more than a striking blow. The anger manifesting could reveal itself as something more than just bared teeth.
It’s why the golden filly avoids crowds. It is why she keeps to herself.
(And really, does it matter? A lone yearling is barely cause for concern. She isn’t at the age yet where her curves might attract attention. Too old to linger at the hips of her milk-mother and still too young for anything else.)
If Aela had a better understanding of who she was - or what she was born from - perhaps she would have known better than to wander this Forest alone. She has been told many times that she is protected in the North. She is safe in the North. As an adolescent, all she hears is being told what to do. That she has to stay in Taiga. What she is being protected or kept safe from doesn’t cross her mind. The golden yearling has her own mind and it had told her to venture out of the Redwoods today.
The sunlight warming her hide seems to agree with her, even when Aela peers hesitantly through the brush. She isn’t sure what to expect but the least of her expectations is him. The bay colt who squeals at something (Aela thinks she sees the silver-grey twirl of a bushy tail, a squirrel?) makes her blue eyes narrow.
He reminds her of Wherewolf, with all his stomping and irritation.
The yearling emerges from the greenery so that he might see her. She wants no surprises from him and her still growing flaxen tail swishes between her hocks as Aela comes to a stop. The filly lifts her head, glancing in his direction. She wonders briefly if his antics have something to with the scurrying rodent and it reminds of her a pair of red-tail hawks she saw sitting on a branch, perhaps watching for a meal. It’s something that he might see too - at least a shimmer or feather of the memory - if he comes close enough.
Her head tilts inquisitively, like she expects that he will.
08-15-2020, 03:23 AM (This post was last modified: 08-15-2020, 03:24 AM by Meyer.)
Meyer scowls at her, automatically lowering his head to bring her into better focus. The motion causes a bead of sweat to dislodge from the tip of his matted forelock, running down along the length of his nose and into his nostril. He snorts at the tickling sensation and clacks his teeth together.
It had not really occurred to him that he might come across someone other than Set or Niklas. Because Set and Niklas were always there, whether they were present or not. His glare automatically shifts after the retreating squirrel at the thought. It disappears into the shadows that fill the empty gaps between the exposed roots of a nearby tree, and his ears bury themselves into his knotted mess of a mane. Really, he is not as unfriendly as he might appear. Flicking a tail that only just yet touches his hocks, he turns to face the stranger again, slowly this time so that he first has the time to school his features into a more acceptable expression.
Stony-faced, his emotions shuttered behind that space in his head where there is only room for agreeable quiet, he meets her eyes. She is young, he thinks. He’s not been this near to a stranger before. He is not sure that it is a feeling that he enjoys. Her head tilts like one of those tiny birds when they are trying to hear you better, and the sentiment held in the blue depths of her open gaze makes him look away after the briefest of contacts, shuffling his feet aimlessly underneath him.
It is not her fault his heart leaps and twists with every unfamiliar sound. She cannot know that the sight of an animal – every animal – brings with it the heavy feeling of suspicion, knowing that Set could be watching him through those depthless, all-knowing eyes. Many times over, when he was younger and braver (impudent?), he had tried to escape; but the little creatures would always find him and their loyalty was firmly Set’s, no matter Meyer’s abilities. It was never long after they found him that either the predators or the shadows drug him back, sometimes kicking and screaming, other times pleading and whimpering – a pre-show to the punishments and consequences awaiting him back in the piebald’s clutches.
A pair of bright golden eyes interrupt his thoughts and he visibly startles, skin twitching. The faint, fuzzy echo does not burn, though; it does not feel like Set. He blinks once, twice, and again in rapid succession, and seeks out the inquisitive mare, unintentionally moving closer. Watching her carefully, he waits another beat. “I don’t like it when you do that,” he says flatly, deducing that the alien memory had to have originated from her.
08-15-2020, 09:30 PM (This post was last modified: 08-15-2020, 09:31 PM by Aela.)
Aela watches him from where she stands, making no motion to approach the colt who has anger toiling in his brown eyes. It tangles there much like fine hairs of his dark mane have knotted together. It doesn’t take an Empath to sense his irritation but what Aela can’t fathom is why is his irritation for the squirrel?
The small creature skitters away, vanishing beneath the roots of a nearby tree and taking any of her further consideration with it. When she peers back to the bay colt, he has wiped the slate clean. The earlier irritability turned into something that resembles more of granite along his jaw. His face has turned to stone. Aela regards him - much like she would regard any ghost - and he looks down. It’s not so odd a reaction, she knows.
Sometimes, this is what happens.
They look down. They look up. They look around. They look everywhere but her because Aela is asking them something. They either hear her or they don’t. More often than not (because coming close to others is a rarity for her too), her questions go unseen and her words fall on deaf ears. Most of them leave Aela alone with only her ghosts and her observations.
(And her heart should lurch with every unknown sound and step. The girl should be more careful in these woods. Aela shouldn’t be here at all but good luck with ever getting beyond a suggestion with her. If she knew and if she could tell it, these two might have more in common than they think. The girl slips past the magical barrier that Brennen casts over the North, keeping the children of her territories safe from a Thing that could slither, stalk or soar. From a Thing that could be anything at all.)
The stranger doesn’t leave. He doesn’t half-heartedly murmur something and fade away. The bay colt instead startles and it sharpens her attention. The look on her face is briefly shocked and then her gaze brightens, realizing that he’s caught a glimpse of what she’s shared. That he’s heard her. It’s an odd feeling that twists in her gut when he comes closer - concerned with what he might carry with him and yet… her curiosity wins out.
Not only had he heard her, but quickly (and she can only wonder about clarity)!
'I don’t like it when you do that', he says and there is a small curve on her lips. There is a moment of silence longer that she hopes will elaborate on what she can’t say: anything. Aela glances briefly up, regarding the branches around them and then finally the pleasant blue of a summer sky. When the golden girl looks to him again, she wonders if he’ll catch her humor as she projects this memory.
08-25-2020, 02:09 PM (This post was last modified: 08-25-2020, 02:09 PM by Meyer.)
_______________________________
Unlike much of the generations before his, Meyer is well-accustomed to magic. Set had, a few times before, spoken of the time before he was a magician, when traits and special powers did not permeate Beqanna, but to young Meyer it all seems like a distant fairytale or a dream. A fairytale because this life is a nightmare; a dream because sometimes, when he was feeling exceedingly nostalgic, Set’s would cast the Chamber of old around them and walk his adopted son (read: pawn) through the paths of his younger years. A naïve Meyer had once thought that it meant the wild-eyed mage wanted to share his life with him, bring him into the inner circle. The bitter taste ever-present on the back of his tongue bespeaks of the reality of such yearnings.
Magic is why he scorns the seemingly innocent squirrel and he regards the thought-projector with glaring suspicion. Growing up with a magician and a demon – and the blank-faced mare that slunk mechanically along, speaking only when spoken to – had taught him to keep his guard about him. His mental hackles have been up for so long that he does not know how to relax them, and he eyes the red-gold girl with suspicion.
Ears pinned, tail still wringing against his hindquarters now and again, he tracks the curve of her smile and wonders why she says nothing in the quiet that stretches between them. He wonders if she is mute by choice – as he had concluded was Salomea’s decision, and he could not blame her – or if she is incapable of speaking. His brow creases in a thoughtful frown, tail falling still at his hocks as he unconsciously draws closer, the mimic in his bones sniffing and hungry for the magic it can sense in her. When she glances up and then back to him, a hint of amusement settles into his mind and he snorts violently, recoiling. Missing the bit that comes after, he mistakes her humor for mocking (a sentiment he knows too well and is perhaps a bit sensitive to).
In the past, he has wielded such great power that it had threatened to tear his every fiber apart. Set is not here, though, only a mute lass with laughter in her wild gaze, and when he snatches at her traits, it is she that might feel the black hurt run through with the red anger. No particular memory surfaces in the riotous mess, and this initial exchange could be a much different experience were he not so broken and unstable and lost in himself. “Why are you even here?” he seethes, skin trembling as he retreats again, bleeding emotion as he goes. “This is where you come only when you have nowhere else to go,” he says quietly to himself, squeezing his eyes tightly closed before opening them again.
09-03-2020, 03:03 PM (This post was last modified: 09-03-2020, 03:05 PM by Aela.)
Aela has a firm handle on her Magic because she would have no voice without it. Without her ability to project memories, there would be nothing to fill up the air between her and Meyer. She would simply stand there, trying to convey what she could with a glance or tilt of her head. A shake for No, a nod for Yes. She's grateful for this ability though she knows nothing of where or how it came, of who gave it to her. The yearling assumes that even the plain horses - the ones like brown Meyer - must have some sort of ability.
It never occurs to her that there might be horses without them. Aela, perhaps naively, assumes that there must be Magic in everything.
Magic might be the reason that Meyer scorns a squirrel but it is the reason that Aela found a way to speak at all. It allows her spotted mother to heal and it allows her grandmother to speak directly into her mind, to show her parts of Beqanna she has never been too and faces she has never met. Magic might serve as a source of suspicion for Meyer but Aela has come to learn that it is a portal. For a child who has been tucked away in the North and hardly allowed to leave (because she remembers nothing about the promise that Lilliana elicited from Kota, about the agreement made between the two mares in the exchange for a child), it had been her source of freedom.
She's grown up sure of Magic and her ability in it. It is why she can smile at Meyer so easily. It's why, perhaps, Heartfire's humor peaks out through this golden descendant. They could talk about the weather but why? Aela has never been able to have a conventional conversation. The sky above them - bright, vibrant, and blue - are certainly inviting but nothing about it seems interesting enough to take hold of this interaction.
Her memory and humor catches him. What Meyer does, though, is unique. When she has let her memories loose, part of Aela's fascination comes from how they are interpreted. She remembers Wherewolf and all his misplaced anger. She remembers Kensley and his fog. As she has gotten older, she has started to suspect that there is something more to the memories than just the images she reveals. The interaction with her half-brother had proved that; Aela had caught hold of his anger and the two of them battled over it, trying to lay claim to a fury that neither understood. Kensley had been a ghost and somehow her memories had colored him, taking all the gray that manifested around him and bringing it to light.
@[Meyer] is different.
It's the first time she has felt her Magic wretched from her and it startles her. She knows to expect the unexpected but this is the last thing she could ever imagine. (She has had a Magician touch her mind. She has resurrected a Ghost. She has spilled shared blood. This has never happened before.) Aela jerks her head back and the smile vanishes, evaporating into an expression that borders along indignation and shock. She feels the black hurt pierce her and the rage catches fire (because though Aela hasn't yet felt this depth of rage, she was created from the rage of a Curse that wanted Beqanna to burn with vengeance).
For a moment, she remembers the hollow sounds of hoofbeats against the sand. She remembers the fierce ache of her shoulder as she hit the hard soil in Nerine. She remembers the way that the air had fled from her lungs then as it does so now.
The bay boy bleeds emotions and Aela glares at him, her dainty ears burying into the fine strands of her pale mane, trying not to cut herself further. How was he doing that? He asks her why she is here and part of her wishes that she had use of her tongue, that her retort didn't only echo in her mind. Why not? She would have asked. Why shouldn't I be here? You have no more right to this place than I.
Instead, she projects another memory. She doubts he will feel what she did each time that she left the North but the wall of Magic keeps it sheen, even in her memories. It is a memory of slipping past the sequoia's and through a veil, something meant to keep her in and the rest of Beqanna out. She blinks when the memory fades and the accusation is clear in her blue eyes when they meet his: what would he do if he only had one place to go? Would he stay there like an animal trapped in a cage?
