"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
08-28-2015, 12:49 PM (This post was last modified: 08-28-2015, 12:50 PM by Shahrizai.)
All things are possible, even the worst of things.
The trek from field to desert is fortunately not a long one. The wind grasping at their flesh with icy fingers causes time to slow to a sluggish crawl. The pewter stallion would be more than grateful to see the beautiful dunes of his desert home any moment. He keeps close to the two bay mares accompanying him, ensuring they remain safe (if cold) and their direction true. Though, for the most part, finding the Desert is easy. One must simply travel south (unless you are in the jungle, of course).
He is generally a patient man, but the sight of thinning vegetation and soil growing gradually more arenaceous causes a sigh of relief to wind through him, easing the slight edge he hadn’t know existed until that moment. The icy air is becoming steadily warmer as their regular, persistent footfalls bring them unerringly forward. Winter in the desert is a time of life. Where most of the land hangs under a thick blanket of cold and snow, the Desert thrums with growth and energy. The rains come more frequently in the winter months, bring that precious, life-giving liquid to enliven the land. The often arid, nearly non-existent foliage blooms with activity, bringing a brightness and vivacity seen only once a year in their parched clime.
As he surveys the slowly changing landscape, he knows that, finally, they have reached home. The sparse vegetation gives way to rolling dunes of shifting sands. The land becomes slightly more unsteady underfoot as the granules shift under the weight of their hooves. He has been accustomed to difficult, unsteady terrain since his childhood, but he doubts Lethea and Mnemosine have. He slows his steps then, accommodating them in any trouble they might have with the ever changing earth beneath feet.
Fortunately the dunes soon yield to the verdant oasis that sustains their lives. Rolling sands give way to sparse vegetation. Scrubby plant life gives way to flourishing growth and clear aquamarine waters. He brings them close to that precious liquid, giving them several moments to refresh themselves as he does the same. Crystalline droplets falling from his damp muzzle, he raises his head, turning his coffee brown gaze onto the two mares.
Welcome to the Desert. It’s beautiful this time of year. And much warmer too.
He smiles then, dark eyes twinkling with a hint of wry humor.
As frostbitten grass gives way to the sand grains of endless time, the duo, addled with Shahrizai, trudge the beaten pathways. Lethea has a glimmer in her eye, as the dark grey skies of winter change, to a softer, darker blue and the warm rays stroke her skin, much kinder than the harsh touch of jack frost. Mnemosine holds the sharp feeling of doubt, it sits behind her eyes, sits within her chest like lead and she finds her breaths come harsher, stronger. She did not doubt that the blue roan's intentions were good, she did not doubt his soft voice and gentle eyes, but it was she, and her memories painted such life as foe and pain-givers. Lethea, her brain, like a gentle mist, hiding those thoughts and those painful memories. She, she took to the change of grounds, change of environment like a fish would swim in an endless ocean; her pace increased and even though her skin feels taut against her fine and skinny frame, her scarred bay body has a new glow about it. She bounds, her flinty hooves sinking, fetlock deep, her neck strained high, crown lofty as her eyes seem to bulge taking in all the expanse. 'It goes on and on.' her tone is wistful, soft, lost within the sand grains as they whip past on an air current.
'It is indeed beautiful.' Mnemosine agrees, her tone almost clipped, but the smile that pulls at her lips is every bit genuine. It is fleeting though, as she watches curiously as the man motions to the oasis. shimmering water's edge like glass, reflective. A shine, a glimmer and she watches as he drinks, her own eyes drinking in his form. He was a larger man, his skin a dark, roany blue. He sort of reminded the bay girl of the dark sunsets, just as the sun gives way to the moon, the dark stars mottling the dark navy skies, just before the moon glows full. Her observations are quiet, but Lethea notices and bounds over, her fine limbs sinking in the depths. She nudges her sister's shoulder with her own and knocks her off balance. Lethea then takes to the waters, and drinks, she drinks wholeheartedly and with a need that goes farther than just thirst.
'Have you always lived here?' Lethea asks, soft words falling from her lips like the stray droplets that attach to her fine whiskered muzzle. Mnemosine is silent, silent for moments, for what seems hours. Her gaze has found the watery depths and she sees herself; every scarred inch of her bay frame. ridges, lines, patterns. She closes her eyes and she feels the dampness of tears pinprick them, but she refuses to let them fall. She has managed to keep them together this long, she shan't fail yet. The bay girl lowers her muzzle and the cool waters are welcoming as they slip down her throat.
'Shahrizai? Mnemosine asks, almost uncertain the way she says his name. She sidesteps out of her sister's shadow, where Lethea reaches out, her lips quiver yet no words fall, she touches her sister's thin barrel, strokes the lines where he ribs can be seen (just an added embellishment to His masterpiece.) Mnemosine wriggles out of her sister's concern and she steps closer to the blue steed, she is nervous, it is seen in the way her eyes dart to the oasis, back to the reflections. She kicks a stray, burdensome lump of hardened sandstone into the depths and she watches silently as it distorts her already distorted image. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her, when he looks at the pair. Both earthy bay, adorned with tresses of black; what once had gleamed with health, like gossamer fine. Now, matted and gnarled with twigs and gorse. Once glimmering pelt of bay, now dull and fine and thin, cracked like artist's clay, too hot, too broken to go on. What had he seen in them, to offer them home, to reach out and send the pair a rope to their rescue? She wonders, she wonders indeed, but it is her glass-eyed sister than asks, than answers and Mnemosine remains quiet then, just watchful, silent words upon her tongue.
'Are there many others here? I don't know if we could cope too well with... crowds. But it seems open, wide, open. Look at all the rolling dunes! Sand, sister, sand, everywhere.' Lethea is distracted, she tears herself from her sibling's side and bounds to the other side, sinking and slipping through the sand, as though her body already weightless, her soul already having escaped it's broken vessel. She bends her head low and she nudges the sparse bits of vegetations, teeth grinds against the sandy weeds, grainy and strangely salty.
'Thank you.' Mnemosine says, now her sister is removed from the equation for a few moments. She says it again, this time stepping closer, as if her fragile voice is too quiet to be heard. 'Thank you. It means so much to finally find somewhere to rest, to find someone who..' she pauses here, the pause is long and more heartbeats than necessary, but she brings her gaze back from the glimmer of the water's surface, to Shahrizai. 'Hasn't judged us...'
Lethea & Mnemosine
we are just misguided ghosts, travelling endlessly
All things are possible, even the worst of things.
He had spent much of his life in doubt, unsure of which path would best suit him. He had wasted years making his decision. He had vacillated between so many different choices, even when the obvious choice had been staring him in the face the entire time. Since he had been but a boy, he had subconsciously known where he would go. He had met a goddess and, though he had not known it, his entire future had turned at that point. But he had wasted years before the realization struck. He had been pulled in too many different directions by too many horses that he loved, and it had clouded his vision. It was not until he had made the decision that he simply was not going to decide that the choice became clear.
And now that he is here, he could not be happier with his choice. He had not felt so at peace in ages. As the two mares survey their surroundings, one in open awe, the other in quiet reservation, her observes them with a gentle eye. He doesn’t wish to frighten them away with his boldness (for though he is reserved now, he is quite capable of cheeky audacity), and so remains quietly unobtrusive as they check things out.
After she drinks with an enthusiasm not often seen, Lethea asks her first question. Her inquiry is not unexpected. It is natural to be curious about those they would live with, and considering he was the one who had brought them here, it is an entirely pertinent question.
I have not. I was actually born in the Amazons.
He grins as a hint of amusement edges into his tone.
As you can imagine, my presence there was not really very necessary. But the Deserts welcomed me with open arms.
Mnemosine speaks then, uttering only his name on a questioning breath. His head tips in her direction as his warm, brown eyes settle upon her. For a moment, she looks as though she might add more. But she does not, instead turning her head to brush her muzzle against her sister’s scarred side. Lethea does speak then, words spilling as easily from her lips as Mnemosine’s had stuck against her tongue. He smiles wistfully as she capers a short distance away, investigating the sand and scrubby brush beneath her feet.
There are a few others here, though not many at the moment. But you could probably fit a hundred horses here and still not feel crowded.
He lifts his voice slightly so that it will carry to the bay mare. Mnemosine’s soft voice brings his attention back to her as her words of thanks slip quietly into the air. His features soften as she offers her hushed, halting gratitude for his invitation. He tilts his muzzle towards her, as though to brush it against her shoulder, before dropping it just as swiftly. He is a tactile man, often touching others, but he suspects these women might shy away from his touch. The last thing he wishes to do is cause the two scarred women any more stress or anxiety.
You are more than welcome. I'm delighted to have you guys here. Besides, it would be rather poor form of me to judge you when I'm sure I am far more judge-worthy.
Sometimes, he just can't keep from the humor from creeping in, even at his own expense.
Yael senses the newcomers; the first new breath of fresh air in what seems like years (though she keeps that thought to herself), aside from her own newest recruit. It is not her place to say anything - not yet. Yael, too, has been guilty of disappearing every now and then. Twice now, actually. The first one was planned, the second one was not - but so it goes when the weight of the world rests on one’s shoulders. Sometimes you just have to run away. Or take a nap.
She recognizes Shahrizai’s scent from the first time he was here; the Desert was searching for its next Queen or King(s), and he had come at his mother’s bidding. It was probably for the better when the Desert said no, she thinks, though who could have predicted their current Queen’s notable absences? As Ambassador, it doesn’t matter - it is her duty to meet and greet the shining happy new faces.
Yael materializes slowly about ten feet away from the three of them, giving the new ladies time to get used to her presence. She doesn’t want to startle anyone. When she is fully whole (gold coat, golden wings, and a silver mane and tail), she offers the three of them a genuine smile. “Xello! Yael says with enthusiam. “Velcome to ze Deserts. I ahm Yael….”
