"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
As soon as she reaches the border, Adalyn knows she will be staying for a while. The endless hooting and cawing and rustling and roaring of life that reaches her ears is exactly what she’s needed after walking silently for a few hours. The trip between the field and the Jungle left the water girl to her own thoughts, none of which were incredibly interesting. She’d eventually started up a sweet little tune from her childhood. It told of the Dale’s strong mountains and rippling lakes and warm sunny days and how when the birds sung you knew life would be pleasant. It was one Adalyn often visited when she grew bored with the silence of travel.
But here, with the loud orchestra of life pounding in her ears, Adalyn knows she won’t need her Dale-enriched tunes to fill the silence any longer.
She pauses at the border, allowing her legs a few minutes to rest from the long walk. She can sense water brimming just past the territory’s perimeters – waterfalls and streams and rivers and creeks and rain almost every day. Although the certainty that she can develop her abilities even further excites her, nothing entices the adventurer more than the fact that she will have a place to put her energy toward. Her manners keep her from launching across the border, so Adalyn settles her slightly sweaty body against a large tree trunk and waits for a passerby or patroller or someone to greet her.
The bay tovero has done a thing; a thing that ought to be shameful but is exactly the opposite of that - liberating. She keeps this thing a secret, hoards it to herself like precious treasure and the black press of spite against her heart has eased a little, as she feels freer now. Granted, Riva is not like nor will she ever be considered cheerful.
However, her rather peaceful idyll is shattered by songs from a throat more cheery than Riva’s will ever be. It isn’t the singing that grates on her nerves, but rather the contents of the song - things about the Dale that make her want to maim the mouth that lets such drivel fall out of it. Already she is thoroughly sickened the longer she listens to it; her ears naturally pin back against her poll in abhorrence of the Dale’s mention. Yes, Riva knows that at some point, she must make amends with one of the two kingdoms that spawned her accursed bloodline but for the time being, she thought herself safe in the Jungle deeps.
Apparently not, but at least the singing stops.
“Thank the monkeys on high!” she groans, rather indignant as she shoves off from her favorite kapok tree to go see who the hell sang so highly of the neutral mountains and lakes and made Riva wish that horses had a gag reflex. Of course the Jungle could use some cheerful souls instead of all the bloodthirsty shieldmaidens that would gladly whore themselves out to War itself if he took a stallion’s form, and few were merry and quiet like Riva (okay, spiteful and quiet but hey…). Either way, the bay tovero goes off to investigate this disturbance into her private time.
It is a little black mare, clearly sweaty like most mares not used to the heat and humidity of the Jungle. In time, they all become accustomed to it, like Riva has who hardly sweats any more unless it is just an unbearable summer’s day - then, she’s lazing in the river, eyeballing the crocodiles who boldly snap their teeth at her and she snaps back. They have an odd accord: they don’t eat her and she doesn’t make crocodile throw rugs for the Amazons’ meeting grounds. But back to the black mare resting up against a tree, that Riva is staring at rather rudely because let’s face it - Riva is hardly anything other than bold and obnoxious.
“The hills don’t need to be alive with the sound of music, seeing as you’re far from those hills anyway.”
She looks the black up and down, smells the stamp of the Dale all over her and wrinkles her nostrils in distaste. “So, what brings you here though besides singing as you wander?”
Her blood is thick with royalty. If one were to trace her roots back to the beginning, they would find rulers of every kingdom aside from the Jungle and the Falls. Perhaps that is what calls her (although she knows little of how royal she truly is); there is a kingdom undiscovered and uninhabited by her bloodline and she must fulfil that destiny. Or perhaps (and this is the more likely choice) she is just looking for a loud place to fill the silence of her life. She’d lingered too long at the Dale’s corners, waiting for some sort of family that she knew of, until she departed to wander briefly in Beqanna’s lands.
Her reckless feet eventually led her to the Field where Magnus told her of the Jungle. Adalyn can still feel the current of excitement sparking in her stomach, something which has led to the fireworks cracking in her gut at this moment. She imagines her welcoming into the warrior kingdom to be lively and fiery and exciting, but the bay tobiano who greets her immediately kills those hopes.
The sharpest tongue Adalyn has heard thus far is the hiss of a snake. The black and gold mare’s ears shift backward, put off by the bitter words. She hadn’t known that her simple song could be heard over the hooting and screeching and roaring of the Jungle’s background lullaby. She forces away the mild feeling of embarrassment and straightens her spine. True, Adalyn might be refreshingly or painfully optimistic, but she is not weak either. Her chin rises in a bold show of steely determination.
“I’m here to join the Jungle.” She says it simply yet boldly, as if her entire purpose is rolling off her tongue. Deep – almost murky – blue eyes scan over the Amazonian mare. “My name’s Adalyn. What’s yours?”
Blood thick with royalty?
Just about everyone could claim royal blood these days, it does not make one special in any way.
Even lowly Riva can claim ties to both the Tundra and the Dale, to a King and a Queen well known, liked, and loved even - except by her, but that is besides the point. Blood, is only that - blood, and scratch both mares open, they’ll bleed the same: red.
Honestly, Riva is a buzzkill. She sucks the joy right out of the room, since misery loves company. Riva though, is about the only constant spark of life in the Jungle, besides their Queen. She strays from one end of the Jungle to the other, in a constant arc of patrol and on most occasions, they handle her abrasive manner just fine. This mare though, seems rather crestfallen to be greeted by a genuine Amazon (hey, she’s taken her oath and is therefore, a sworn sister). Maybe it’s just because Riva isn’t really personable, she’s entirely too blunt - like a gust of skunk air that comes out of nowhere and knocks you off your feet. Nobody is ever truly prepared to handle the likes of her, sadly. Not that she will ever change her ways or make apologies for the fact that she is the way she is.
(She could blame it on a lack of an upbringing, but hey, that seems to be taking the easy way out of things. Riva is Riva, as crass as they come.)
Of course her song could be heard over the Jungle noise that Riva has become so thoroughly accustomed to shutting out. All the better to hear the trespassers, she thinks, almost grinning wryly to herself. “That’s more like it,” she says laughingly, as the black and gold mare straightens her spine and lifts her chin in steely determination. Riva responds better to shows of strength, like this one; mostly because she appreciates it better than some soft sap traipsing through their lush green country, thinking it is all rainbows and daisies. Well, Riva is likely the first to stomp all over those rainbows and daisies. “Of course you are, isn’t that why you came here in the first place Adalyn?”
Granted, the mare could have been yet another kingdom envoy to stroll across their borders but Riva knew better than that. “I’m Riva by the way, and I see no reason why you shouldn’t be able to join us although the decision remains entirely up to Lexa and the Jungle herself.”
