"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
Tell me something: What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?
The thought enters my mind more often than I’d care to admit. At one point, I think I had a home. No … I had a home. I still have one, if I want it. I can go there, where Ea reigns and mother has left, where Dad still lurks (I think) every now and then. My twin too, I had one once. But I’m old now. Well, older than I was once and not young enough to be wandering aimlessly like I do. It just feels like I have no damn purpose here anymore. In Ischia, or even in Beqanna. I’m one of the leftovers - y’know, the ones that aren’t special or dangerous or fighting for good. Just a bald-faced stallion with golden hooves that tells everyone somewhere, at some point, I had magic running through my bloodlines.
Is it bad that I don’t even care I’m a leftover?
Perhaps that’s why I’m here, in the meadow; maybe I’m just fucking bored. Regardless, my black limbs are parting the waves of spring grass and my hazel eyes are glaring dead ahead with no expression - I’m caught up in myself and really that’s alright. I still haven’t decided if I want company or not. “Not that there’s really anyone out here you’d know.” I’m reminded, the thought parting my lips with a disatisfied sigh. My back itches and the thought disappears, replaced by a more urgent need to shed the remnants of a winter coat that's given me a brown hue. The horrid patches of fur are almost gone, but some remains where I’ve yet been able to reach.
There’s a lonely looking tree not too far from where I’m headed (wherever that is) and I adjust course accordingly, but I can’t help feeling a little put-off when the shadow of another begins to take shape the closer I get. I put on a happy face, let my ears tense and my slack mouth draw into the thin resemblance of a smile before the words “S’cuse me.” break my current silence. I was hoping for a nice rub, some alone time, even thought about a nice nap. Not anymore.
This is my problem - I’m an introvert.
“Mind if I scratch an itch?” I ask, immediately regretting the choice of words because from out here, where I’ve stopped, I can’t yet tell whom I’m speaking to. What’s done is done though. Might even send them away, if I’m lucky.
Today was a day just like any other. Sunlight warmed the ground as early summer began. The long grasses, so succulent in spring, were losing their color to the greedy, golden sun. Butterflies and birds alike danced a complicated step along the light currents flashing blue and orange, purple and white, to compliment the wildflowers that blanketed the ground. And there was Tyrna.
Long limbs carried her through the sea of swaying golden grasses, her body flashing shadow and ice. Her mane was tousled in the breeze that caressed her body and she paused, closing her eyes and soaking the sunlight into her dark coat. It isn't too long before she finds herself moving again, seeking shelter against the rising sun. As luck would have it, a single tree cast just enough shade to ease the burn. She wasn't there long, just starting to doze, when a masculine voice cut through the quiet. Her baby blues crack open as she turns to face the stranger.
Mind if I scratch an itch?
At the question her eyebrows raise sardonically, a sharp smile gracing her face. "By all means," she moves out from under the merciful shade to make room for the stallion, "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with the tree however." Her soft chuckle fills the air before she continues. "I'm Tyrna by the way. Might as well know my name since we're becoming so close." Her blue eyes fill with friendly mirth as she takes in the stoic form of the stranger.
“Funny.” I tell her, but I’m not laughing. It’s easier to just acknowledge humor when I’m met with it rather than pretend I find enjoyment in it. Tyrna isn’t all shadows, it would seem; she’s graced with a patch of white here and there, some faint blue markings on her legs that I can’t identify but it piques my interest nonetheless. Everybody has a history and everyone has an agenda, but mine is simply to ingress deeper beneath the paltry shade in order to rub out this complication of an itch. “Tyrna, huh?” I muse, neck twisting so that I begin my routine there before pushing my dark body harder against the rough bark, edging forward while the sharp tingle is satisfied. Up and then down, slow circles that smooth out muscles I’ve forgotten about, a motion that has my upper lip quivering while a groan slips past my teeth.
I’m appeased and so is the itch - which is good because when I turn my molten amber eyes to where the she-horse waits it seems that she’s taken quite a keen interest in me by the way she’s staring. Waiting for my name, I think, but I feel awkward saying it. “Um, Terran.” I tell her, taking a few steps to the right so I can circle around the trunk and give her room to re-join me. Might as well, seems like this one isn’t deterred yet. “My mother had a thing for names starting with a ‘T’, I guess.” I explain, though I’m not sure why. Small talk has never been my suit.
“Any reason as to why you’re … you know, out here?”
She chuckles softly as he scratches and mentions his mom. The sun is welcoming and so is Terran's awkward company. "My mom did too, to be fair. After my dad I suppose." Tyrna swats her tail lazily against her side at non-existent flies, letting the sun warm her steely hide. The summer had always been her favorite season. Everything in bloom from the spring but with plenty of sunshine to chase away the cold and winter snows so distant. With her awakening in the winter it only felt right that she enjoy every sunny day as much as possible before the dark and chill came back.
Her blue gaze trails over the stallion slowly, something about his figure striking her as familiar, before she answers his question. "I'm out here for the same reason you are I suppose, to enjoy the summer sun and meadow grasses while the getting is good." Her smile is warm and lazy, the bright lights and relative peace making her drowsy. "Where do you call home normally?" Her tone is conversational and she is relaxed, but something in his stance or figure lingers in the forgotten corners of her memories. She can't shake the feeling. A small frown flicks at the corners of her mouth as she debates on whether to address the nagging, and of course, she eventually does.
"Have we met before? Before the Reckoning I mean?"
