11-27-2017, 11:45 PM
hold me in this wild, wild world
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
The trees give way to open space, and he feels the loamy jungle-edge soil giving way to true sand beneath his hooves. They need space to train fighters, so he takes himself to the open of the beach at low tide, when there is hard-packed sand for a large expanse where there was water (and will be water again). He glances back at the trees, amber eyes considering. Someday, they will work on close-quarters fighting amongst the trees and birds, but for now, he needs space. Space to watch, space to evaluate.
Space to breath? He isn’t sure. He likes the jungle well enough, but he feels more at home on the beach.
Brennen calls out, looking for who will join him, and then he waits. For all appearances, patient. Even bored. And he is patient – but bored? Rarely. If his body is not active, you can place bets his mind is working on something. Professional, personal, existential. Something.
Perhaps he has greater ambitions, but this role fits like a well-worn pair of blue jeans. He has been a warrior, a general, a leader of fighting men, for longer than most of those who have joined him here to make Ischia their home have been alive. He is not even a stranger to teaching mares, despite being a Tundra man for all of those long years, for he has run many inter-Kingdom training exercises, not to mention coaching his own female descendants along as well.
When at least one of them have joined him, and there is no one immediately visible on their way, the bay stallion speaks. “I’m Brennen,” he says for the benefit of any he has not met, or anyone who might have forgotten. “I’d like to get a feel for who we have on the Island who is a warrior, or wants to be. Or even who just wants to learn a little bit.” His gaze skips over their faces, bodies, obvious traits and features. “It is likely we will move into mock battles from this meeting. We all need the practice, and the experience.” It has been too quiet in Beqanna, and so he is not the only one who must be rusty – and others might be totally green to real fighting.
“To pair us off most efficiently, rank yourself – novice, intermediate, expert.” He doesn’t ask for details – he is as interested in who is overconfident, too modest, or honest, which he will know when he compares their self-assessment with the reality he will see.
Space to breath? He isn’t sure. He likes the jungle well enough, but he feels more at home on the beach.
Brennen calls out, looking for who will join him, and then he waits. For all appearances, patient. Even bored. And he is patient – but bored? Rarely. If his body is not active, you can place bets his mind is working on something. Professional, personal, existential. Something.
Perhaps he has greater ambitions, but this role fits like a well-worn pair of blue jeans. He has been a warrior, a general, a leader of fighting men, for longer than most of those who have joined him here to make Ischia their home have been alive. He is not even a stranger to teaching mares, despite being a Tundra man for all of those long years, for he has run many inter-Kingdom training exercises, not to mention coaching his own female descendants along as well.
When at least one of them have joined him, and there is no one immediately visible on their way, the bay stallion speaks. “I’m Brennen,” he says for the benefit of any he has not met, or anyone who might have forgotten. “I’d like to get a feel for who we have on the Island who is a warrior, or wants to be. Or even who just wants to learn a little bit.” His gaze skips over their faces, bodies, obvious traits and features. “It is likely we will move into mock battles from this meeting. We all need the practice, and the experience.” It has been too quiet in Beqanna, and so he is not the only one who must be rusty – and others might be totally green to real fighting.
“To pair us off most efficiently, rank yourself – novice, intermediate, expert.” He doesn’t ask for details – he is as interested in who is overconfident, too modest, or honest, which he will know when he compares their self-assessment with the reality he will see.
hold me in this wild, wild world
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
BRENNEN