[open] we could run away together // andromake, any

[Clegane]

The Meadow.

Fond memories pull at the edges of Clegane's mind as his broad chest parts the thinning autumn grasses. Meadowsweet and cornflowers cling to him, and the scent that lingers close to his skin is of wildflowers and must. Long-ago mornings spent stretching his young legs come to mind as he canters, and thinks back to countless nights with his father tracking stars across the sky, and begging for a story or two.

But Raul had not been the most talkative of sires, and the stories he did wrestles from the older stallion, Clegane would always hold close to his heart. It is hard for him not to wonder about Raul as he crosses the wide plain - his mind running through the same meadow, but in a time gone by.

Maybe that's how he gets so close to another horse without realizing it, climbing to the top of a wallow and halting abruptly as their eyes meet. There seemed to be an unspoken etiquette in the meadow, a set rule of the right amount of space to give a stranger, and he had clearly passed into what he perceived as personal space.

"Oh," he snorts, his silver eyes wide and apologetic, "sorry." He is ready to turn and keep going on with his wanderings, but something holds him back and he waits to see if the stranger is inclined to bait him to stay.

clegane

@[Andromake]

[Andromake]

@[Clegane]

As always, Andromake dreams. She never did before, as a child. As a child, life was just as it was before her; something torrid and precise, ready to be put in order. What was there to dream about or imagine, anyway? She had everything she wanted from the moment she was born. Not deprived of hardship- no, there was always hardship involved involved with being a mare. The second born daughter borne of a love match with the king. Then, later, a wife herself.


But now she dreams. Her imagine carries her away, always, from this place that is too soft with clover too sweet. The wind carries the voices of her friends and the stream carries the laughter of her sisters. When she dreams she is never alone, she is never forced to be anyone at all. She is the daughter at her mother's teat, the mate of her stallion's heart. She reminds herself that she is lucky to have known love at all, and knows that she would never surrender it, but the power of it is only apparent when she imagines that she can almost see his face through the trees beyond the meadow. She nver goes toward them, never shatters the illusion, but instead watches and dreams that she does it anyway. 

She is gazing off into the distance when she realises that she has nearly collided with another horse. Or rather, they have nearly collided with her. She turns her head to see a stallion. The scent of horse hits her over the quiet breeze, and her ears immediately twitch in anxiety. Not all men have been kind to her. 

Andromake observes him cautiously, sees patterned skin and a pair of wings that reek of power. Power that she herself lacks. 

But he does not assert dominance and does not establish control. Instead, he apologises for crashing into her. 

It has been so long since she talked to another of her kind. Of her age. Even if they are brilliant where she is not, they are still like her. Perhaps this is why her voice nearly cracks as she calls out, "It's alright! I'm not hurt." Stupid, she thinks. Stupid for one once so skilled in the art of court. Now she can barely introduce herself. "I'm Andromake." 

Andromake

Photo by Josiah Lewis from Pexels

[Clegane]

In his younger years, he had nothing but his dreams. He had fallen endlessly into a haven of day-dreams, the brilliant world to which he escaped as the hours crawled by. But at night, when the shadows became bottomless, inky pools he feared to close his eyes. Then he could feel the crawling things running across his skin. Those dreams were treacherous - night after night showing him the things he most wished to forget, leaving him gasping from the blood in his mouth. But when he woke there was no blood, only itchy, healing tissue. As the years passed his fears faded, his body and his mind knitted themselves back together - mended, but never fully restored.

The cords of scar which run across the right side of his face must suddenly be apparent as he turns his face. He did not try to hide what was so clear, not anymore. It had been years since his scars prompted anything more than a sympathetic look or cautious question. There were many in this world with the evidence of violence carved into their bodies, he was hardly unique.

But if he had known she thought he reeked of power, oh he would have laughed.

She affirms that she is not injured and, he gives an unintentional sigh of relief followed by a hesitant smile. "I'm Clegane," he replies, turning his body to solidly face her but leaving a polite distance.

"I've been traveling all morning, do you mind if I stop and graze with you for a little while?"

clegane

@[Andromake]