09-01-2015, 09:48 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-13-2015, 11:33 PM by Isetnofret.)
Spring came all too quickly for Isetnofret's weary heart. Although winter had been long and bitter, it had given her a hiding place from her pain. Spring brought green things, and new life, and with it the stark reminder of what Iset had lost.
Still, there was some good in the melting of the snow. She could run again.
Her hooves scrabble against the reappearing grass, sending freshly grown flowers flying through the air. The wind has a bite to it. The black mare relishes the way it nips and plays with her mane and tail. She is relieved that not all pleasure has been stripped from her soul. In this, the deep thrumming of her heart and the landscape flashing by, she can always find solace.
An air of mourning, almost tangible, hangs around her. Iset is not sure that any one would much enjoy her company, but she begins to feel the need to make an effort. The Dale, after all, is still her home. Even through the bitter, desolate winter, Iset never felt unwelcome within the borders. This place had embraced her. She could not abandon it.
She tries her best to be kind about it, but it is subtly apparent that she is giving any pregnant mare or mare and foal pair a wide berth. Her heart ached too much to consider their company. In every tiny face she saw the still, dead one of her son. And so her eyes sought the ground or the sky to avoid an awkward encounter. She wasn't bitter enough to be rude, but she was hurt enough that she wasn't sure she could be congratulatory.
Iset has not seen much of Weir over the winter, and she fears his pain was great as well. The black mare finds that she worries and wonders after him, hoping he will appear once more. Even through their mutual hurt, Iset has felt pulled towards him.
A sound in a grouping of trees calls her attention, and she slows, hesitating for a moment. Now is as good a time as any, she decides.
"Hello?"
HOCKETY, POCKETY, WOCKETY, WACK
He had been absent, but not really absent at all. Just distant, made himself scarce more often than not. Maybe they would forget him, maybe he in turn could forget everything all together. An odd thing to do when your name was Weir, but the roan had coped in his own way. He hadn’t even bothered visiting the field, nor had he made the trip to the fields. Those were some of his favorite things to do, some of the things he knew he should do. He couldn’t, not just yet, not now. Now, when the spring blossoms were sprouting up across the Dale and most of Beqanna. The earth smelled of everything sweet and new, but it left a bitter and sour taste in his mouth. Now, when the mares, for the most part, had miniature versions of themselves tagging after them. The sight pulled his head and his heart in opposite directions. He could have done better, should have done better in the ways he had chosen to handle the event.
He could have offered Iset a shoulder to cry on, but he did not. He should have worked through the devastation of the occurrence with her, but he had not. He could have mingled more with her, with the herd, instead of hiding in the shadows of the trees. Again, he did not. He did not do any of those things, and he was disappointed in himself.
He slowly strolled through the trees, sniffing at each sprout of new growth. Inspecting the insects and all manner of life that burst forth from the Dale. He is cataloging, deep in thought when someone speaks. When she speaks. Weirs heart climbs to his throat, and sinks to his belly all at once, his ears droop along with his head. For a moment he considers turning around, though he finds it in himself to break through the boughs. Peeking out through the growing foliage, he finds himself face to face with Iset. His amber eyes grow pained at the sight of her, and he can barely manage to greet her. ”Iset. H-hello.”
WEIR The Dale's Eccentric Magic Manipulator
Iset is not sure who is more surprised, she or Weir. She quietly admires him, an amused look on her face. The stallion looks for all the world like an errant child.
"Oh! Weir, I'm so sorry. Were you busy? I didn't mean to disturb you…"
Shame and embarrassment suddenly flood the black mare's features. Her voice trails off, and she dips her head awkwardly. She does not know what to say. Her tongue feels thick in her mouth.
The reddish sheen of his coat reminded her of their child. She breathes deeply. After a moment, she finds that that thought does not make her feel like sinking into the earth. She feels the pain sharply, but not as if it will kill her. For today, that is enough. Relieved, the mare lifts her head, and meets the eyes of the stallion.
She instantly feels a pang of guilt. They have seen little of each other over the winter. She had been so wrapped up in her grief that she forgot that her sorrow was a shared one. Weir must have suffered greatly. Iset remembered the day she had told him their son had died. Weir had been crushed and silent, and Iset hadn't known what else to say.
“Weir... how are you today? I know you're not okay. Neither of us is, really, but you know you have me, right? You don't have to bear the pain alone.”
Iset moved closer, nuzzling his neck with her nose, dark against light. She took comfort in his warmth just as she sought to give him comfort with her presence.
“I'm sorry I haven't been around. I've been selfish. This pain is not just mine. Please forgive me, Weir. I promise I'll be here.”
Iset isn't sure where to go from here, but she knows that she doesn't want to lose her dear friend.
HOCKETY, POCKETY, WOCKETY, WACK
His ears turn towards her, finding her hurried apologies. Had he been busy? No, he supposed he had not really been busy, just keeping himself that way. A busy mind was the best way to chase the ill feelings away, sort of like that saying. ‘Busy hands are happy hands’ same went for minds in his opinion. He offered her a small smile, one that struggled to grace his lips, but he plastered it there anyways. ”Oh, no. No, not really busy in truth, just finding things to do.” He runs a hoof against the grass, his eyes finding the ground as well.
He finds her questions painful, almost intrusive, but he shouldn’t. It was his own fault that they had not seen each other, he had become very good at avoiding her and everyone else. Slinking into the trees or over a crest of hills just in the nick of time to escape painful social situations. ”I’m..mending.” He decides, but he is not yet 100 percent committed to believing it, that notion hadn’t really cemented in his mind. He looks up when she tells him that she will be there for him, and he nods. ”That is kind, but it should be me apologizing. I should have comforted you, I should have said something. I am not sure I even deserve your friendship, I have wronged you Iset.”
It takes him by surprise when she pressed herself to him, they had not shared many embraces. Not since then. He allowed his muscles to relax, doing what he should have in the first place, and that is console the mare. How had he ever managed to go so long without doing so? ”What was he like?” He asks her quietly, it had haunted him since he had heard the news. The blank silhouette of a child he pictured did not provide much in the way of closure, or comfort. ”Will you take me there? The place where he left? I’d like a proper goodbye.” By now the body would have melted into the Earth, providing sustenance for the ground, carrion for the scavengers. There were always some things that would never end, and the circle was one of them.
WEIR The Dale's Eccentric Magic Manipulator
"Never, my silly man. You haven't wronged me." Iset smiles softly, her words gentle. "You had a right to grieve however you needed to. And I would be sad to lose your friendship for any reason."
Isetnofret herself has not visited the place where her son lies since the day she lost him. She has skirted the place, giving it a wide berth while drawing a bit of tainted comfort. Her boy was never far from her thoughts, and at times, she didn't want him far from her physical body.
He was so young, so little. She couldn't bear the thought that he was alone.
"Come.I will show you."
She nudges him gently, and then steps forward. She is taking him to a small copse of trees near the edge of the Dale. Iset had fled to it in terror when her pains began, for its safety and seclusion.
"I-I've chosen, you know." She says as they walk, Iset leading a bit. "I'm staying here, in the Dale. I told Ramiel I would like to join the army."
She finds she likes the thought of learning to defend herself and her home, those she cares for. Even after the loss she has experienced in this place, she has infinitely more to be thankful for. Her son will always be a hole in heart, but she feels a faint hope being amongst the family she made for herself.
The black mare leads Weir single file into a small space ringed unevenly with trees. She waits for him to join her, their bodies almost certainly pressed together. Iset is grateful for Weir's presence. It relieves by a small amount the ache that is ever present in her soul.
"He was a miniature of you, Weir, colored red but with a snip of white on his nose. Perfect. Iset noses the ground mournfully. The scents of that day are long since washed away but she can picture the tiny form of their son lying near the blooming wisteria. "He looked peaceful, not troubled at all."
She paused, her eyes filling with tears. Iset felt she would never be through crying for her lost child.
"Hello little one. You are very loved." Iset whispers, her voice broken. She gives her companion a small sad smile. "You would have made a wonderful father to him, Weir."
HOCKETY, POCKETY, WOCKETY, WACK
He was the one to ask, so why does he hesitate? The roan lingers a little longer than usual for one asking to be led. He was a bit worried about what he would see, all logic said the body would be long gone. Should be long gone, and if it wasn’t? He should be able to face that, shouldn’t he? He feels her muzzle brush his side, urging him to come with her. She would lead the way, and he would follow. For that, he was grateful.
They journey out, crossing the Dale and nearing the edges of their Kingdom. Weir remains quiet, thoughtful and perhaps a bit apprehensive as well. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, not after all they had been through. His ears pull forward as he follows her and she speaks, breaking the somewhat tense silence. Staying she advises him, and joining a caste as well. ”I am happy to hear that Iset. I am sure Talulah is most pleased as well, I’m glad you have made a decision.” He tells her these things, of how happy he was, how glad he is she had decided to say. All this before they file into a copse, low hanging branches brushing at the man’s skin.
It’s a tight fit, he knew the mare would have gone here for safety. A small opening where she could have some privacy, all while a good view of any who might interrupt it. He manages to squeeze in, but only just, there just wasn’t room for much else. The close proximity makes him a tad bashful, and he does his best to not invade her space too forwardly. He bends his neck to lower his russet head to the ground, sniffing at the forest floor. For what? He wasn’t sure, it just felt nice, and ease the ache in his chest some. ” Like me?” he whispers, unable to manage an octave higher. She goes on though, driving each stake into his heart, but at the same time releasing some stone that weighed it down. Forgetting himself he lifts his head, draping his long neck over her own. Holding her for the time because he thought he should, he knew he should and that he had failed to comfort her before. ”Thank you.”
WEIR The Dale's Eccentric Magic Manipulator
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