brennen;

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails No one ever slipped her notice once they crossed the border to Nerine. With her eyes trained to the miles of landscape separating them from Pangea, Nayl has often taken note of outsiders slipping into her home, but she simply takes notes and goes about her business, settling on finding them a different day if they are to stay. The fact that the stallion arrived with Djinni, however, prolonged their meeting. Comfortable and trusting in her Mage’s decisions, Nayl didn’t rush herself to find him. Nerine has distracted her, embraced her, as her mind reeled relentlessly with emotions and memories. Her entire life has been spent distanced from emotion and any manner of attachment. There was comfort in that, and there was security in knowing she would never crumble to nothing as Myrina had. Mother weakened herself by letting her heart blindly grope for the affections of a man. That’s what had fueled her, built her. She had been nothing like grandmother, and so she fell. The life she led was meaningless except to procreate in hopes of remedying her sins. Fortunately, in her desperation to find love, Nayl was conceived. She watched her mother flail and dig her own grave, and so she had promised herself not to follow in Myrina’s footsteps. But oh, how precariously close she got. The wall around her mind is more heavily fortified now and her heart is forced into an iron casket. The hard lines of her face contrast with the vibrant colors of her eyes. They burn with curiosity even as her expression is stoic upon finding him alone, finally away from Djinni. ”Hello,” she greets as the roar of the ocean waves form a backdrop for their conversation, ”I’m Nayl.” Her name rings with pride, with a coy power that she harnesses with an intrigued tilt of her head, ”I’m surprised to find a stallion deciding to willingly remain in a matriarchal society.” There are only a couple others, one less now that Stillwater has been rooted to the forests of Sylva. Simeon and Bowie have both melted into the shadows, creating a greater wedge that may lead to their expulsion. Time will tell. ”Care to tell why Nerine interests you?” Her voice is icy, her gaze hardened and searching. Nayl covet and myrina's creation

[Brennen]

hold me in this wild, wild world
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be

Though he certainly has yet to see the whole land, Brennen thinks he has seen enough from the air, and then from a short tour with Djinni, to get a good feel for it. The grey sand underfoot is not unlike the sand of the Deserts, though it does not radiate head and golden warmth. And the scent of the ocean, while it is not the scent of his beloved Tundra, is sharp and refreshing, like the ice and snow. He thinks perhaps he could grow to like it. The sound of the waves crashing on the rocks isn’t the same sound as the Falls, but it is a loud water sound and he supposes he might like that eventually also.

Brennen never knew his mother, but like any true Tundra stallion, it had been his father he had strived to emulate anyway. Texas hadn’t given him family (though Brennen knows, in some abstract way that there must be many siblings wandering around), or a childhood; the only thing Texas had given his son was the Tundra, and to a lesser extent the Falls. And he had served the Tundra faithfully from the day he stepped foot within its chilly borders, and the Falls in his own personal way. But they are gone, and Brennen does not know how to bring them back. And at some point, he has to move forward.

He is ground-bound when she finds him, but with his wings partially extended, eyes half-closed, enjoying the feel of the sea breeze ruffling through the inky black feathers. Too long he had been without his wings, and he felt like twice the man he had been just after the reckoning since Djinni had restored them for him. The fact that the fae had also seen fit to give him his ice control back – perhaps as a reward for getting off of his lazy butt and starting to find his place in the new world – doesn’t hurt either.

When it becomes clear that the approaching mare is coming for him, he slits his eyes open a little wider to watch. She’s striking, her colors bold, and moves with grace and authority. Of course, he’s met few Amazons who didn’t. The stranger strikes him as one of those who probably populated Nerine from the Jungle, and he wonders as she gets closer if she’s one who favors or does not favor the addition of stallions to their ranks. Brennen assumes there must be some detractors amongst them. His question is answered with her first word – her name – because Djinni had told him that their Queen intended to continue to allow mares and stallions. She’d also said something along the lines of “separate but equal”, which he is not sure is exactly what Nayl has in mind after she calls it a matriarchal society.

Still. He had agreed to come knowing it was the new Jungle, and he can’t say he’s surprised if they’re not really equal. He’d settle for partially equal, at least for now.

“Your majesty,” he responds, casually, straightening and pulling his wings in to his sides, though he does not bow or offer any other obeisance. He has never been overly formal with any monarchs; the closest he had ever come was a true respect for Errant, but even then, he had never been the type to be deferential. “I’m Brennen.” The stallion watches her as she speaks, finding her iciness amusing. He brings out the most interesting responses in the Jungle women, and finds them endlessly fascinating. “Well,” he muses, swishing his tail casually, “I believe it was described to me as ‘separate but equal’. Is that not true?” He didn’t really answer her question, and he knows that, but it’s been too long since he bantered with an Amazon, friendly or not-so-friendly, and he can’t quite help himself.

hold me in this wild, wild world
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get

BRENNEN

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails It could be sinful how much she savors hearing majesty roll off his tongue so perfectly and effortlessly. It invigorates her and pushes another bout of adrenaline through her body. Being a Queen – the Amazon Queen – stirs a greater feeling in her gut, a serenity and comfort that she has never before experienced in life. She has raised them from their lull and she has established an alliance in her brief time on the throne. Now, to hear a stallion so willingly address her with a favored title only satisfies her more. The want to hear it again thrums inside her, but she remains composed while in front of him, her gaze steely and scrutinizing. ”Brennen,” she tastes his name for the first time, memorizing it casually with an observant tilt of her head. ”You were in the brotherhood once,” a brow lifts underneath her unkempt forelock, ”I remember your name.” It’s but a memory now, a fleeting whisper that she heard as a child in the Jungle. There had been no story behind it, no face – only a name lost in a sea of others. Living in the Jungle brought an influx of whispers and rumors. There was much to be had and to be known about the single-sexed kingdoms as they reached out to each other in attempt to forge friendships and understanding. Nayl remembers nothing more except that their home had been miserable cold, or so the diplomats had said when returning home from an excursion. A quiet regard pauses their conversation as she mulls over the statement. Her shoulders roll and her head inclines to weigh the proposition of the reformed Amazons. ”I suppose,” she finally says with light laughter. ”Men can serve a purpose or they can find their way out.” Most know of her brash personality and how she lacks eloquence in her speech. Nayl has never been interested in false pleasantries. ”There’s a limit to how many stallions may live here. Fortunately for you, we’re down a couple.” Another humorless chuckle as she reflects on Stillwater’s abandonment and his new life tucked away in the forest of Sylva. She doesn’t elaborate, however, leaving the ends open to allow his curiosity to wander. ”What did you do in the Tundra?” Nayl covet and myrina's creation

[Brennen]

hold me in this wild, wild world
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be

The honorary title drops off his tongue without thought, though he would be interested in her avid response, if it was obvious. To him, it is simply the correct address; he comes from a time and a people when it was more common and sometimes necessary. The title itself does not confer the respect some might think; that must be earned from him. But a little courtesy never hurts anyone. He smiles blithely through her scrutiny, unconcerned, and flicks ears forward to catch her words.

The smile lingers through his name and then fades, something else flashing in his honey-brown eyes when she says ‘You were in the Brotherhood once’; he pauses a moment but then words flow from him almost unbidden, that dark loss deep in his gaze, undeniable. “I was always in the Brotherhood. I am here because there is no more Brotherhood.” He doesn’t want to do any of this under false pretenses – he will not have her thinking that he would be here if there was still a Tundra or a Brotherhood to go home to. Nayl might not want to be second choice, but surely as a woman who has lost her own Jungle, she will understand at least some of what lurks in the dark of his silence.

When she lightens, Brennen allows himself to slide back into congeniality, his half-smile returning to his face, the darkness pushed to the very back of his being for later contemplation. He listens to what she says and what she doesn’t say, and wonders where the other stallions have gone. Kicked out for lack of usefulness, or gone on their way willingly? When he leaves, for a part of thinks that outcome will someday (maybe a long time from now, but someday) be inevitable, how will he depart? Contemplating these things, listening to her words, he doesn’t speak again until she addresses him with a direct question. Then, the smile remains but takes on a slightly predatory edge, just a hint of the Brennen who is dangerous. “I’m a warrior.” he states it plainly, shifting and mantling his wings a little, the black feathers nearly shimmering in the way the light hits them as he carefully folds each one. “I have been a warrior, and advisor, a father, and a grandfather in the Tundra. What do you see me doing for Nerine, Nayl?”

hold me in this wild, wild world
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get

BRENNEN

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails Nayl takes him into consideration. Underneath his half smiles and dutiful stare, she can see more of what he is, who he is. The scars lining his skin have already told her that he is a warrior, and yet she proposed the question to inject more life and interest into their conversation. He is wise, respectful, amiable, and she knows how informed he must be and how long he must have lived in Beqanna. There can be so much learned if one simply pays attention. The roll of her shoulders doesn’t imitate boredom, but more restlessness. The idea of fighting ignites a spark in her soul, one that has been smothered since gaining the throne. Brennen can be useful, she muses, as her fiery eyes trail along his body to his neck to his eyes. ”No Brotherhood? Such a pity.” But she already knew about the tundramen slipping into extinction. Nayl has traveled across this new Beqanna to see what lands have been born from the ashes; alas, there was no brotherhood. There had been a rather barren land, however. ”Ideally, I would love to fully trust you one day,” she admits casually, ”to know you wouldn’t turn against me.” Because she has already had one turn his back to her and reject her simply because she struggled her one obstacle, because she wasn’t strong enough to touch him and to indulge in his contact. What she has learned is to avoid those that want to fuck her and to break down her walls. She needs to surround herself with strong allies, those who will help raise her instead of break her down. Yes, she has learned now. ”For now, you could help those interested in learning to fight. There aren’t many,” the momentum the kingdom had upon its creation has since withered, but certainly hasn’t died. She herself may actually be interested in taking part. In reality, her only real fight had been for this herd, to be its Queen. Obviously, she won, but that hasn’t sated the warrior – the monster – inside her. It lurks underneath the surface, waiting patiently to arise once more. There lies a want for more power and strength, and so she steps closer to him. Her gaze slips away to the waves as her thoughts are triggered by the roar of the waves. ”What if we could recreate the Tundra?” Would he then work with her and never against? Would she then be able to build a trust and a formidable ally? Her curiosity gleams in her pretty face for a fleeting moment, but then is hidden by the steely expression that she has become most notable for. Nayl covet and myrina's creation

[Brennen]

hold me in this wild, wild world
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be

It would be easy to say age had mellowed him, but the truth is, Brennen was born an old soul in many respects. There are, of course, a few things that he is staunchly loyal too, and his fury when those few things are violated is a beautiful (if dangerous) sight to behold. His Tundra, his family, his trusted friends – for them, he would move heaven and earth. But about most issues, he is ambivalent; or, if not ambivalent, at least not prone to fits of passion about it. She drops the words casually in response to his query, and he watches her, a different gravity to the weight of his gaze. “I don’t offer that kind of trust easily,” he finally says, “but neither would I betray my sovereign or my home without quite a bit of advanced warning.” A hint of a smile in his eyes, just the sliver of humor on his face when he says: “I can assure you I will always tell you what I am thinking.”

He had assigned personal loyalty to few of his Kings on their own merit, but always he had been loyal to them insofar as they were the ruling monarchs of the Tundra. Brennen was also not totally above participating in the changing of Kings, through force, mutiny, or neglect, but never on a whim, and never without a very good reason. He cannot guarantee any sort of allegiance to a monarch forever, not without the ability to see all the things they might do in the future, but his personal loyalties, once earned, are quite hard to lose. Too hard, some might say; his loyalty to a mare who had once swapped their son for his daughter with another mare and told none of them was testament to that. (Even then, he had been angry beyond words with Neraza but he understood, he loved her, and he forgave her).

The other task she sets is easier, and he smiles broadly at the thought of teaching would-be warriors once more, at the remembrance of the satisfaction of physical exertion and the sweet burn of wounds acquired in battles both friendly and antagonistic. “That I can do,” he promises with a laugh, “As fighting was my first love, and my attachment to it lingers still.”

She looks away from him, but he waits patiently, feeling that she is not done speaking. Something else brews inside her pretty head and fire-bright eyes, and Brennen will patiently wait for it. For a moment while silence reigns he breaths in the salty air, considers the way the wind tangles his hair and teases his feathers, leaving behind remnants of salt and sand instead of the once-familiar ice and snow. But at her next words, when she finally turns curious eyes on him again, Brennen goes very still (perfectly still), the only sign that he still lives for a long minute of heartbeats is the longing in his eyes. (He can tell himself he will grow fond of Nerine, but it is a stopgap, nothing more; the Brotherhood is more than just a vanished piece of land). “I would give much and more for the return of the Brotherhood.” he says finally, voice so cool it would seem to burn like fire.

At this point, he thinks that she reads him quite well, and he speaks no more. Brennen doesn’t think he needs to explain that there are types of loyalties, and that while personal loyalties can be built brick by brick on respect and affection and trust, they can also be bought. Everyone has a price, even ageless stoic ice-warriors, and he thinks that she has found his even in this singular conversation.

hold me in this wild, wild world
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get

BRENNEN