"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
12-18-2015, 10:29 AM (This post was last modified: 12-18-2015, 10:38 AM by Weir.)
Weir blinks against the autumn sun, fresh rays of fall-light blind him as he wakes in the middle of the Dale's meadow. The sun's warmth is nice against his roan skin and he rolls over, realizing he is bedding in grass. That he has the weirdest sensation that he is covered in hair, and where are his blankets?
He opens his amber eyes, he's on the ground, face full of weeds and grass and wildflowers.
Had he slept here? It's an odd sensation, looking around at the greenery as if this is a strange place to sleep, as if he did not usually sleep here at all. He also was surprised to find that he had no hands, had he ever had hands? Well, he has hooves now but maybe he was supposed to have hooves.
Wasn't he just at the Gates? Where is Fynnegan? He blinks groggily, amber eyes looking as his head and neck turns about. He must have been sleeping really hard because he's not sure he was ever at the Gates- he was somewhere else, somewhere with snow. Somewhere with Darwin, yes, that was it- he would ask Darwin.
"Darwin?" He says quietly, as he cautiously rises from his cushion of grass. Teetering on his legs as if he has never used them before. This was a very curious predicament, curious indeed.
He twists, flicks his tail, but there is no Darwin in sight. Somehow Fynnegan's been misplaced too, and come to think of it he doesn't remember the trip home. Not at all. Neither one of them. He sighs, wishing he had stayed asleep. It's not often he comes across such a vivid dream, not one he remembers so clearly anyhow. It must have been a dream, a frightening dream but also a nice one- if that makes sense. Who is he to talk of sense though? Weir's actually kind of disappointed, he felt like he was missing something and that it was just out of reach, right there on the tip of his brain.
Red ears fall flat against his ginger mane, he wishes Darwin were really here, like in his dream. A light snow begins to trickle down around Weir, big fat snowflakes landing in the meadow grass and melting. He doesn't even notice them, he just notices the absence of his friend.
I am tired, I really just want to lie down and sleep, take a nap, hold up a tree, anything but walk really. I have been looking everywhere for Weir. I have known him long enough now that I don’t think he would just up and leave me, something must be wrong. See, we were in Gates talking chatting with Magnus and little Amorette. I looked away to talk to Magnus, I couldn’t have been talking to him for more than a minute and when I looked back my tall reddish friend was gone. At first I thought he was playing a joke. I laughed and called for him to come out of hiding. We all looked around, made a game of it. Though I found the game short lived- Weir was not playing… he was gone. I was annoyed; I will not hide that fact. I had thought the tall one my friend- but a friend would not leave you behind. No, maybe I was not so fortunate in my chosen company.
I left Gates after not being able to find Weir, I tried to end things well, I said I was off to figure out what Weir had gotten himself into., I don’t know if they believed it. So I have been walking, looking, searching. I have looked in the field were we met, I have looked in the meadow, where I ran into the interesting young mare, Esileif, that interaction had not gone like his meeting with Weir. The young girl, in her frustrations had been very rude. Though, I must admit I didn’t handle it well either. I did manage to salvage that meeting, who knows- maybe the girl will visit Dale- as he had talked of it. Anyway, I didn’t see him at the meadow, or the forest, or the beach, or well- anywhere. I had grown more and more concerned, and less and less upset with my friend. I had only one place left to look- the Dale. So I walked, again.
See why a little short thing like me might be tired? That is a lot of terrain to cover on little legs. But I had made it; I was at the Dale. Weir’s words from Gates ran through my mind, about not entering, and waiting to be welcomed in. I stopped at the boundary; I had no claim here, so I really should wait. I pawed at the dirt, and look anxiously around. It my friend is in trouble, or there is something wrong- I wish not to wait here and see what kind of welcome I would get. I exhaled- like I it had released some form of protection around me and I pushed onward. I started calling out for Weir. I am sure I drew much attention. I am sure there are alarms ringing somewhere—Intruder! Intruder! But Weir could be in trouble, and I must find him.
The Dale is gorgeous right now- fall definitely looked good on this place. Lush grasses, shady spaces, and vibrant colors- it is very welcoming and I thought about just lying down and having that nap. But I couldn’t, not until I figured out what happened to Weir. I swear I have searched this place for a rather long time- but he is nowhere. But then I saw him lift his head off in the distance, he looked confused, and he stood up like a baby would for the first time. What was wrong with him? How had he gotten back here? Weir looks sad… and is it snowing around him?!?! It was definitely time to get answers.
I ran to him, excited that the search was over, and curious to find out my answers. My words ran a mile a minute. I don’t think I even gave Weir a chance to answer a single one in-between, but I just had so many questions. ”WEIR!!! What happened? Where have you been? Did you forget about me, I thought you were playing a game for a bit. Why is it snowing? Do you have any idea how long it takes a little thing like me to search BQ? It takes a long while- let me tell you. I met the strangest lass on my search for you- remind me to tell you sometime. Why do you look so sad? I was mad for a while, but then I just got worried, but now I’m just glad to have found you- finally. And I’m so so tired…. Why is it sno…ow…..wing?”
I realized that I was in a free fall of words as my yawn interrupted my spiral. I shook away the yawn with a shake of my head. I didn’t apologize- as my questions and concerns were valid. I looked up at my reddish friend with a fused blend of concern, relief, and tiredness and awaited his response.
» death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily «
For a time he is left to sulk, standing there in the middle of the Dale so alone. It's very strange to him this- being so utterly solitary. It's not that he had much company before, it was however just like having a piece of him missing. In a sense, he did.
He finds remedy to his sorrows shortly, his drooping head and features lifting slightly at an approaching noise. The soft footfalls of another making their way to him, though he can not discern whom it is he should be expecting.
When the rise is crested by a familiar dark pony, Weir perks, head and ears moving forward before he himself follows. He is both surprised and relieved to see Fynnegan here, considering he had likely rudely left him somewhere between the Dale and the Gates. Left him high and dry and without direction, what a poor friend he had been.
"Fynnegan, is that you ol' chap?" Weir grates as though he has not spoken or a had a drink for some time now. "I- I havn't the slightest. It's just there, on the tip of my tongue. Somewhere happy, somewhere full of wonder, somewhere frightening. Terribly and utterly alien." His features turn thoughtful as he considers this paradox of an explanation. "No intentions of leaving you good fellow, though it seems somehow between here and there I have done the very thing." It's uncommon for Weir to be so confused, so ill informed of his own whereabouts. How does one not know where they've been? How they got there? How they got back?
"Terribly sorry, most apologetic. That must have been quite the adventure, I am sorry to have missed it." He's still ignored the outright chill of the cold around him, the pile of snow gracing his backside. "Snow? In August? Don't be silly now, it would never be snowing in-" He looks around as he says it, amber eyes catching the steady flakes that fall around him. Flurries of white that flutter down and collect on the grass at his feet. "By George you're right! It is snowing! Spectacular, wonderful, how very odd indeed. We should get to the bottom of this, something bizarre is a afoot don't you think?" The red head is oblivious to the fact that the snow seemed to follow him. That it was spawning somewhere above his russet head, surrounding him in his own personal snowstorm.
I don't even know where to start, or what to think. While my adventures had been great, I know that leaving a friend whom you made a commitment to is not okay either. On one hand I am intrigued and curious and relieved to know my friend had some experience and came out of it unscathed. However, the other hand is not so mild mannered. I want to ignore the slightly irked feeling that grows as I hear the story I want to be truly ok with the situation but truly I am not. But since I have much to share with the larger horse I consider my closest friend within these lands, I smile and listen. I will move forward, as he does seem ernest in his innocence. I mean that in the best way I can, that he seriously didn't know how he had come to vanish and reappear on the other side of Beqanna. As his story continues and as his reluctance to believe he is the one creating the scene around them I feel my worries and uneasiness recede. Weir is one of the good ones, and being hasty with him will not change what happened.
I smile as Weir "Weir, I do say it is you who is making it snow! Whatever adventure you went on seems to have left you with a gift!" I laugh at his disconnection. Weir is bright, curious, and open-minded. I am surprised he didn't sense his own gift within this mind, or spirit, or wherever this gift was coming from. "Well, whatever whisked you away must have been some adventure. I do have so much to share with you too." I laugh at the whole situation. Somehow, every moment is an adventure with Weir. I find that I wish to tell him more about what he missed while I was looking for him. But to tell him everything would take a long time, so I figure I should show him. my lands were not too far from here anyway. "Weir will you walk with me I wish to show you something!
My black coat is fuzzy over my fit frame, I had done much walking, during my search. I easily cover the distance, I keep a nice pace quick but not too rushed. I am excited to show my friend the lands I had. I refuse to tell Weir where I am taking him, though I am sure he knows of this place, my lands, Echo Trail. But I doubt Weir knew, as he had been....away, or whatever. If wasn't long until I Cross out of the main lands of dale into my independent little nook. I stop and look at my tall friend. He surely knew by now what I was to say, but I wanted to voice it, and explain how it all happened, and that this didn't mean I didn't want to be a part of the Dale. I had thought long about it. "It's mine, Weir! These lands I mean. I claimed them! I ran into this mare, I didn't like her at first, but I now I think she is nice, a little young, unsure but there is potential in her. We struck a deal so that I could claim these lands. You will have to meet her one day! Isn't this place great?!! It's like a mini version of the Dale withteh large clearings within the trees and the small creek at the center...." I stop, trail off, feeling sheepish suddenly. Not that I have anything to be ashamed of, but that I feel that Weir put energy and effort to bring me to Dale, to gather me up for his Kingdom, and here I was gushing about the herd lands, ignoring his efforts. "Weir, I am so excited about my lands, but I haven't forgotten about Dale. I do wish to be a part of them as well. I was thinking of joining the Peace caste. My father was a successful ambassador for a time. It is in my blood- and I am not soldier. With my height and lack of traits- i would not be much help in battle."
I doubt Weir would be upset, he is rarely angered. I wish to continue our adventures so I looked within Dale first for lands of my own. I see great things within Echo Trails and I see the Dale as a place where I will learn and grow as well. There is so much more to learn and others to meet. Soon. Soon I will accomplish everything, but I must give time a change to play its part as well.
» death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily «
Never once does his genius mind wander to the conclusion that he himself causes the snowfall. That he was capable of doing such a thing, not without Magic. However, there he stood, in awe of himself for once, blinking into the flurries that fell in fat dollops from the chilled air above him. “Why, Fynnegan, I do believe you are right.” Still his voice is thick with disbelief, mulling over the circumstance in his mind. Wonderfully odd, wonderfully odd indeed.
He is not one to help himself, skirting back and forth, side-stepping and watching the flakes follow him, only solidifying his connection to them. “Oh ho! Indeed you are correct.” He shakes, sending the accumulation of white from its roost on his head and backside. they fall where they will, dusting anything near with their diamond-like glitter before they melt.
“Walk? Why of course my friend, a walk sounds just fine.” His rusty head bobs, shaking up and down in agreement before he follows. A roaming glide to his step, though he keeps up with the excitement in Fynn’s only lingering a few hoofbeats behind the dark pony. He’s traversed the Dale’s acreage many times, and soon he realizes the direction they head. The Echo Trails, an area that was a sub-herd within his Kingdom. One that matched the quality of good land the the kingdom major held for herself, though usually it was quite empty.
“Fynnegan, old sport, you have done well in my absence.” He acknowledges the outburst of words leaking from his friends maw. A roar of thought compared to their usual discussion, and he smiles a small smile in his amusement with it. “Oh, it is a fine place indeed, what a good eye you have.” He flicks his tail in the warm sun, the snow and wetness long gone now, no longer falling in drifts along his stationary body.
He can shame or fault Fynnegan for his enthusiasm. Any stallion would be proud to have their very own piece of land, and it was customary in fact, to his kind. “I’m sure you will do well with it, I’d be glad to meet your mares.” He assures Fynn, taking a deep breath of the scents that he did not often have the joy of smelling. “I’m sure Ramiel would be greatly appreciative of you joining our ranks. The peace caste is a good choice.” Truly the Dale consisted mostly of peacemakers, though they all in some way could hold their own to protect their Kingdom.
“Oh goodness speaking of Kingdoms. have you met Ramiel in my absence?” His words almost shocked in his realization, blurting from his mouth uncharacteristically. Weir suddenly felt like a terrible liaison, neglecting his duties as he had.
