"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
Winds whip around the meadow bringing the cold bite with it, yes it was officially winter. Hooves crunch in the newly fallen snow that had melted during the day before and froze back over during the night. A middle aged stallion picks his way over the extra slick parts of the snow as he reaches the meadow, the wind makes him shudder softly and curse at the fridged temperature as it sinks into his bones. The stallion was looking for a place to call home, he really wasn't ready to strike out on his own and start a herd with some mare he had met in the field. He wanted to be in a Kingdom or even part of a herd. A sigh escaped the stallion's form and dissipated in front of his face in the form of water vapor. He shook his head and grumbled slightly at the sight of the snow in front of him. He has always hated the snow, even as a child. He hated the cold, his Arab coat was much to thin to be in this weather.
He ambled over to the pond which to much of his surprise was not frozen only a thin layer of ice formed at the top, a hoof could easily break it. So he did just that, he lowered his elegant head and drank the freezing water mildly concerned that it might freeze his blood and his organs but the though instantly left his head when he scented a equine, he couldn't tell the gender yet but it was defiantly equine. His heart lept for joy and his eyes twinkled at the thought of having a home, finally!
From above, the wicked shall receive their just reward
Kronk was unused to the new weight of wings on his back. They felt strange, like he had suddenly grown extra legs he didn’t know how to use. But, they were a gift from his king, a gift from his kingdom, and so he cherished them. Cherished them even though he didn’t know how to use them.
They were, however, a constant reminder of the duty he owed. They were the figurative weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He and his brothers and sisters, the brave men and women who made up the Gates, had a kingdom to rebuild, and a score to settle. But, both of those things took manpower, took dedication, required individuals who weren’t afraid to work, to put their back in to it.
Thats who he was looking for today. Good soldiers, or smart diplomats if the case were. Kronk would admit a preference to soldiers, but he could acknowledge that it took all kinds. Besides, Wichita needed diplomats as much as he needed soldiers. Kronk lips quirked into a slight smile, he was just glad he wouldn’t have to debate with them. The thought of sitting still for that long and thinking caused him to twitch. He needed to move, he needed to run. He did not need to sit on his ass all day.
Kronk was still smiling, still imagining how poorly he’d fare in a debate, when he spotted a likely look man. Kronk liked his look. He seemed enthusiastic, he seemed like the type who knew how to work. He just hoped first impressions proved true. Kronk approached him slowly, and offered the other man a nod in greeting.
“Hello, I’m Kronk. What brings you to the Meadow?” He was of course, fishing. He was feeling the other stallion out, trying to see if it was business or pleasure that brought him here.
The Rabicano stallion was right it was an equine approaching him, a painted stallion-with wings. He walked over to meet the man who offered a nod in greeting which Riordan returned politely. The wind blew once again making the stallion fight the urge to shiver. He looked over the stallion for any signs of tension or aggression but he didn't see any signs so he proceeded to speak to the stallion, Kronk was his name, he fit his name it sounded strong and general type and he sure did look like a soldier. "Hello Kronk, I am Riordan." He said his voice a deeper tenor but still manly enough not to send other stallions running off laughing their asses off. Then he answers Kronk's question of his business in the Meadow "I was just exploring the lands not taken by Kingdoms or Herds, I was looking for some peace and quiet mostly, the Filed can get a little rowdy" He said chuckling to himself softly his ever green eyes sparkling in humor.
"Kronk, what brings you to the Meadow, more or less out in the cold" he said just as a strong cold breeze blew between them causing the chestnut stallion to grimace slightly. He flicked his tail slightly at his sides to get the unwanted snow flakes off of his back causing his skin to twitch like it would be with flies.
From above, the wicked shall receive their just reward
Kronk knew all these days of traipsing through the snow would come back to haunt him. He’d heard that life catalogued all your injuries and gave you the bill in your twilight years. If that were true, he’d be an arthritic, creaky old man. The thought wasn’t as unsettling as it could have been. He did not intend to live that long, and if he did, his aching bones would just be proof of what he accomplished.
What those accomplishments were, still remained to be seen.
So far all he’d accomplished was being a lieutenant of a charred and burned home. Still, what was burned could regrow, they could rebuild, and that was his true mission. Kronk nodded in acknowledgment of Riordan’s name, and of his purpose. Exploring was a fine pastime. Kronk had been a wanderer, once upon a time. But, the tobiano stallion wasn’t much for that life. He liked having deep, thick roots that kept him firmly planted in the ground. It was nice to have someplace to go home too, when the world was as cold as this. Kronk chuckled at Riordan’s mention of the Field.
“That it can. You meet all sorts of characters in the Field.” That much was true. Kronk had done some recruiting in the Field, and each time was memorable. Competition for recruits or herd members was stiff, and he’d heard one or two particularity pointed barbs about his home. First, about its pacificity, and then about its ruin. Yet another thing that Kronk hoped to change. Riordan asked after his purpose and Kronk answered, leaving off some of his more colorful thoughts.
“I’m recruiting for my home, the Gates. We need men, women too of course.” There, very to the point. Kronk wasn’t going to beat around the bush, the man had asked, and so he had answered. There was perhaps a more elegant way to conduct his business, but Kronk was a solider, not a diplomat. He did his best.
