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Strangers with memories, Naira; - Seirath - 05-05-2017 Seirath’s figure was an anomaly of breeding. It was impossible to tell, with certainty, which races had given him his powerful limbs and chest, his lithe, graceful movement, his strength and height. Only his features; eloquently chiseled from the rich, burnished bay of his body smacked of anything in particular, for his face was unmistakably Arabian, though maybe a little fuller, and he carried it as such. This was not the only sign of a life sparked in brilliance and still waxing with the light and promise of youth. No, there were many others: the determined, unwavering manner of his steps spoke of confidence, the deliberate arrangement of his features of intelligence, the carefully contained laughter in the smoky glass of his iris of a personable nature. But even these were eclipsed by the undrawn force beneath his skin. The solemn, unflinching equanimity that pulsed through him. A force, it seemed, he had not yet tapped, which had no purpose but in its own waiting. Above him the sun bled its finale into the clouds; concluding the wrath the day had inflicted on the restless world beneath. He stood still as the sun sunk wearily from the horizon, his eyes enmeshed in the play of light through the atmosphere. As the colour drained from the realm above him, so too did it drain from the cure of his shoulder and the length of his flank. The burnished gold of the day turned to a rich, dark bay like the coals of doused flame, fading to black coal at his neck and feet. His profile was elegant against the pale green of the skyline, and indistinct against the navy velvet that hung impatiently above it. There was a slight give to his posture as the sun tucked itself behind the edge of the world, like resignation, and unmistakable even to a casual eye. His eyes looked after the path of the sun, the expression on his guarded face almost wistful. His breath, visible in the gathering chill, clung in warm ghostly tendrils to his mouth and nose. She is gone, his shadow, fled in her immaculate perversion as the night reached its apex, to blossom in the darkness that was her own until the sun called upon her again. He was bereft without her, but a few hours had been enough to separate him from the quivering, panic-stricken parent he had been when he had crossed into this world. It was still there, probably less well contained than it appeared, but it was in order now, and it was not betrayed in the slate glass of his eyes. Without her he was rougher, stronger – the grace and flippant whimsy of her was gone from him as well, and left him somber and sober – with only the harshest poetry in the ring of his foot to the shadowed earth. He felt all of this keenly as the evening descended above him, and felt instantly alien to himself. As though he had happened to glimpse himself in a mirror and found too much had changed. As though to turn his inner eye from this unflattering imagery he turned his head, glancing around himself. Someone had told him that this was another open gathering place, like the nearby Forest, and he had opted to start here while the light held out and he could still see across the length of it easily. But that was more than an hour ago, and now it was night, and continuing to search in a strange land in the dark was not logical. So he was resigned. Resigned to waiting for the morning. Resigned to a sleepless night in this strange land, surrounded by strangers. Just then a ripple of gold, reflecting a wayward slant of sunlight or an early flash of moon, caught his eye and something like hope stirred in his breast, but as he pulled the swatch of colour into focus, forced his eyes to pay attention, it was clear that this was not Alayaya. Though it was a palomino, this was definitely not a child, but a mare. She was passing along a reasonably worn track near to where he was standing among the shorn clover. In retrospect, he would never be sure what had made him speak up – perhaps it was the fleeting resemblance to the missing filly that drew him, or perhaps just the weariness of his sudden solitude in her absence. It had been a long time since he had craved the company of other horses, but the Alayaya’s loss felt suffocating. It was instinct, not deliberate thought, and before she had passed completely by him he said “Good evening,” in the steady, warm voice he had forgotten he owned, and bowed his head with faultless deference. He said no more, because the deliberate thought caught up with his impulse and he realized it was late, and she was likely on her way home, and so should be afforded the opportunity to politely pass him by. Seirath - patience
RE: Strangers with memories, Naira; - Naira - 05-05-2017 It sucks, I'm sorry but it's late and I had AP exams all day so my brain is mushy. I promise they won't all be this bad RE: Strangers with memories, Naira; - Seirath - 05-09-2017
He watched her step quickly off the path away from him in alarm and casually took a step backward himself, offering the security of a safer distance from which to judge his intentions. He didn’t speak into the startled wake of his initial pronouncement, but rather waited for her to collect herself. The stillness and patience of his frame belied the tension and anxiety that had roosted beneath the surface all day. The colour of his skin was warm in the rapidly fading halo of the set sun to their west, a light sheen of rapidly cooling sweat at shoulder and hock brightening him against the growing darkness around them. He took a moment to observe her. The pale gold of her coat was like a halo, drawing the rest of the light left in the air against her skin like light silk. It was almost like looking at a mirage, hard to tell exactly where the curves and lines of her really ended. There was something about her. She may have been the only one within earshot, but there was more than proximity that had called out to him. Something was missing for her, just as it was for him. The stars were not yet visible above them in this hour between the sun falling below the horizon and losing the last of its light from the sky. The darkness was progressing to that peak just before the starlight would shine through it. There was no moon in the sky tonight. A new moon for this new chapter of his life. Indescribably, and intangibly, he already recognized a subtle shift in the direction of his life. What had seemed aimless wandering, steered by his whim and his will, seemed in retrospect a clear and forged path. Unconsciously, he was already resigned to Beqanna and a new beginning, he could sense that finding Alayaya would not be the conclusion of their venture into this strange world. The wind, as if on cue, picked up around them now that the sun was set completely. It gusted briskly into the space between them as it rolled out across the meadow. He became acutely aware that his skin was damp. He mirrored her step toward him to avoid shivering. A smile crept briefly across his lips in mirror of hers. He had pliable features, and they were striving to be attentive and warm tonight. The cool slate of his eyes was still touched by the emptiness he was feeling, but the old embers of affability were stirring in them too. ”I’m sorry I startled you Naira,” he said, “my name is Seirath. I don’t mean to detain you if you are in a hurry – it is late.” He smiled again, and the smile was like a mask – pretending nonchalance – a charade so he could continue to avoid the fact: he desperately didn’t want to be alone. He could have borne it, if he had to, he had borne worse, but he would do anything to step away from the edge of that abyss for now. “Were you on your way home?” He asked, buying a few more moments of her company. Seirath - patience
RE: Strangers with memories, Naira; - Naira - 05-12-2017 RE: Strangers with memories, Naira; - Seirath - 05-14-2017 He was relieved when she stepped toward him, and was aware of a knot of tension in his shoulders unwinding a little. His body still emanated heat; vital, still young and hale as he was, his body rose easily to the challenge of a winter evening. On the other hand, the sweat quickly freezing on his skin made him feel unnaturally cold this evening. He didn’t mind the chill, himself. He had been accustomed to cold, bitter salty air in the past and had spent far too long of late on scorching desert hellscapes. The change and the bracing air were welcome, as, was Naira’s gentle if melancholy presence. Conventionally, horses were social animals. They congregated, established hierarchies, compromised and lived alongside each other because the alternative was solitude, and uncertain survival. Seirath had travelled widely. Very widely. He had rarely met members of his species who were comfortable being homeless. Home, in their coding, meaning herd, family, and allies – and occasionally physical places. He didn’t need the brave smile or the slightly over-bright tone of Naira’s voice to know that it pained her in some way to declare this homelessness to him. Her reticence to admit it, so eloquently overcome in her delivery and her steady gaze in his, was not lost on him. Ironically, this admission wins only favorable judgement from the bay stallion. Seirath mistrusted everyone, generally, and mistrusted them more when they were all together than when they were on their own. The honesty was refreshing, and reassured him yet further in her company. He was predisposed by the circumstances to find common ground with the lovely, pale gold stranger but he was finding this common ground more accessible than he would have imagined. For all his practice of solitary living that inborn social understanding still drove him to shift his weight slightly, sidle in and turn his body slightly to shield the slighter frame against that sudden draft. The snow began to brighten on the ground around them, picking up and amplifying the faint starlight far overhead, phosphorescent and ephemeral. His own smile stretched a little more earnestly into his face, subconscious instinct to put her at ease meeting the conscious eloquence of his lips and eyes. There was a shared understanding in his eyes that would have made it almost redundant for him to say me too. He glanced from her into the surrounding darkness, eyebrows briefly raised in wary appraisal. The stormy gray of his irises gathering the light reflected from her fair skin, and thrown thriftily from the emerging starlight as they slid easily back into hers. “Is this a dangerous place?” He had a sincere interest in the answer – the little golden filly was alone somewhere out here, in this strange country – but in Naira’s presence found it hard to believe in a terrible threat. “I would be happy to walk with you, to wherever it is you have in mind. I,” he paused. His eyes escaped from hers again - the unconcealed truth of the next words unusual for him, and uncomfortable on his tongue. “would be grateful for the company. I’ve got a bit of a missing person situation, and I think it will be hard to sleep out here on my own.” Seirath - maharion OOC: ugh. I was hoping this would turn out better, but I didn't want you to wait too long! RE: Strangers with memories, Naira; - Naira - 05-16-2017 RE: Strangers with memories, Naira; - Seirath - 05-16-2017
She came in closer. He was enveloped suddenly in the smell of her, light, sweet, out of keeping with the frigid season and calling up imagery of new green life. The feel of her shoulder against his surprised him a little, as though he were waking to it, but he did not withdraw from it – realigning himself instead alongside her to bring her out of the wind. The difference made by a few inches was surprising – her warmth, or his reflecting back from her – made the winter chill almost pleasantly bearable. “Fine.” he said, softly. He eyed the small copse of trees that she indicated. Not a bad choice, from what was available; there was enough evergreen in the small stand of trees to make a windscreen on one side, enough cover overhead in case it snowed again. Placing himself on the outside he could close off most of the open space, and their shared body heat would be massively better than the solo vigil he had been expecting. He nodded his agreement. He shifted his weight a little, easing cold muscles back into motion, and moved toward the trees with a slow first step, pulling his chin into his chest against another gust of wind and giving Naira time to fall into step with him. Anything I can help with? He shook his head, and caught a sigh before it had a chance to slip past his lips, saying instead “I don’t think so.” His tone was brusquer than it had been so far; the coldness more accessible and comfortable than the anxiety he was concealing. He smiled an apology, trying to lessen the sharpness of his voice after the fact, catching up her warm brown eyes in his. Honesty, Seirath? Maybe try that? “I’ve been travelling with a child that I’m…” there was a pause while he waited for the right words to come to mind “responsible for. Looks a little like you, actually, bright and pretty. But much smaller. She snuck away last night before I woke up. It was easy to follow her into this place but…” he trailed off. One set of footprints and the smell of her had been easy to track until there were too many other horses nearby. Now those things were buried in a haystack of trails, footprints, smells and altogether too many new identities. “I’m sure she’s fine.” he finished, the optimism just a little bit forced. They walked in step together and every once in a while, Seirath would feel the brush of Naira’s shoulder against his, or his tail would brush the back of her leg as they shared the short trek across the dusted clover. The experience was alien to him. He could barely recall being so physically close to someone (apart from the filly). Even so, it did not feel alien at all. Introspective, feeling the time passing more slowly than it really was, he looked for a way to cover over the moment. Seirath had always had an interesting relationship with the truth; he had been taught and honed not to lie, but not to tell the whole truth, either. His general distrust of others had only heightened that instinct over time. He was too anxious to be truly charming, which was the usual deflection he employed when the conversation got too personal, but he also didn’t feel that he would need any charm. He did, however, circle back to what she had said before. “You know, or” he corrected himself “you have known Beqanna well, then? You are from here?” He laid his eyes in hers with sincere but unprepossessing curiosity. He found himself intensely interested in her answers. Seirath - maharion
RE: Strangers with memories, Naira; - Naira - 05-17-2017 RE: Strangers with memories, Naira; - Seirath - 05-17-2017
He felt the reassuring touch of her mug at his neck and – surprising to himself – actually felt reassured for the first time since he and the little filly had been separated. He smiled the tight smile of a parent who understands that this is probably true, but can’t help but hold on to the – mostly – irrational fear. She was not his daughter, and they had been together only a few short months, but she had long since become his responsibility. He had many failings as a guardian, and tended to treat her like her own independent being rather than a child who needed boundaries. Which, come to think of it, was probably why she thought she was her own independent being and felt no compunction to tell him where she was off to. He listened with sincere interest to her – brief – summary of her dispossessed history. He found he had more questions ready – wanted to know more about why, and how. He was encouraged by her tone and saw that it would not press his luck too far to ask. However, they had reached their destination and the subject changed to practical matters. He was shaking his head before she even finished her sentence. A Don’t be silly headshake that was not so subtly saying I will take the outside, I insist. “That’s a generous offer, Naira…” he started to say, fully intending to insist out loud as well. She was already a step ahead of him, though. He watched her settle herself onto the ground, deliberately leaving space for him to lie between her and the trees. Now if he insisted he recognized it would mean making her stand up again to move over which seemed almost as impolite as making her sleep against the wind and he was immediately uncomfortable – both with the thought of letting her take the outside, and with the thought of insisting that he take it. As a result he was still standing after she had made herself relatively comfortable on the ground, very smoothly precluding his intended chivalrous misogyny. Of course, he didn’t see it as chivalry, and that contributed to his frustration – it was just logical, wasn’t it? He was larger, he would make a better windscreen. Plus – he would probably have stood in the open all night if she hadn’t come along and any warmth was a win over that. Her coat picked up the ethereal white of the starlight reflected off the snow, and gave her a luminescent quality, briefly interrupted by the wind-blown shadows of the pines behind them. He was trying to play his polite stranger act, which usually came with a dissociative distance that separated him from forming a personal opinion or emotional response. And yet, he was aware, as he watched her, of finding her quite lovely, and no less so for falling short of the damsel in distress. So he acquiesced, comforting himself with the intention of trading places with her as soon as she woke again overnight, and he settled himself down alongside her, stretching his larger frame against hers – carefully maximizing the skin contact to keep her from getting too cold. As he did so she was offering to help him look for Alayaya – in between yawns – for which he felt gratitude that only deepened his rosy perception of her. Finally arranging his limbs comfortably, he turned his face back to answer and found her eyes were already closed. A softer smile crept onto his lips as he watched her sink into sleep. He murmured “Perhaps, in the morning.” Almost inaudibly, trying not to pull her back from that welcome oblivion. He was not consciously aware of his eyes studying her features as they transformed in the relaxation of sleep, but watch her he did, silently, the wind whining and the trees whispering over their heads. He watched her as her breathing slowed, as the tensions of waking life on your own melted, the occasional unconscious, ever wary turn of her ear toward a new sound in the distance of the meadow. He remained sleepless, though gently encouraged by her rhythmic breathing and the slow, easy beat of her heart which he felt against his own chest. He laid his head gently, slowly, upon her shoulder – careful not to wake her, watchful now over the darkness and the illusion of misty light across the snow in the open spaces beyond them. Seirath - waiting
RE: Strangers with memories, Naira; - Naira - 05-18-2017 ooc: sooo I wasn't sure if he actually ever fell asleep, but I tried to write it so you could play it either way |