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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    life unfolds in pools of gold; Nayl / any
    #1
    The air is colder now as it races across the tops of the frothy waves. 
                   
     He shivers as a fine mist of it sprays across his back and brushes his legs.  The smell of the sea has long since become a part of him (layers and layers of it dried upon his monochrome coat as the year spun itself out) but each new application is like a homecoming.  How long had he yearned for the water while land-locked on a moving, swaying ocean of grass?  And now, here it is sprawled out before him like a lost lover - his from hoof to horizon. 
                    
    But even as he had baptized himself in the blank space under the surface that first day in Nerine, Buck wasn’t sure he would stay.  Even as he washed ashore, pitted and wasting through like so much driftwood, he didn’t know if the gripping sand would stay his feet.  He had been gifted here.  He had gained a sister he had no knowledge of.  He had added bruises and cuts to paint and mark his body further in that same sister’s fighting pits.  He had found peace, even, he wagered.  Solace in the slow drip of the sun into the sea every night.  Peace is all he’s ever wanted, all he’s ever strived for.
                    
    Peace is terribly boring.
                    
    But he doesn’t have the heart to leave and seek out mischief himself.  Perhaps the sand has gotten to him, after all this time spent losing his toes under the tide.  This is a strong place, Buckthorn can feel it to his core.  It is made up of iron women and competent men (if the gladiator matches are any indication).  And though he’s mostly kept to himself this past year, he’s never been made to feel like he doesn’t belong.  The stallion’s deep pull to the ocean isn’t enough to keep him here, though.  He needs a reason to stay, and he hasn’t found it yet. 
                    
    A dark-bellied cloud passes over the sinking sun and draws his gaze heavenward.  There will be a storm tonight, he thinks.  A deep soaking rain to wash the shells of the hermit crabs, to fill the dips of the dunes with clean water, to cleanse him of his salt-soaked smell.  The best time to slip away unnoticed, he tries to convince himself.  But even as he thinks it, he sighs.
    #2
    Autumn had fallen on the lands that the yearling called his home. The water was close to being off swimming limits due to the cold slowly creeping in. Ardashir was not one to willingly go for a swim though in the salty water. The smell bothered him at times but he hd grown used to it in his time here.  

    He was out just wondering learning the layout of the land he was one that used landmarks to find out where he was or where he needed to go. He had so far mapped out most of his home when he was able to convince himself to wander away from his mother. So, this was another day of watching out for something that would stand out in his mind. The colt looked up and the landmark for today would seem to be another horse.

    Ard would scent the air a moment before even stepping one more foot closer this was a horse that he had not had the pleasure of meeting previous to this day. The scent that came back to him held a strong presence of male so this was a stallion that he was seeing. Ard had not known a lot of males in his home so that was interesting.

    The pale colt refused to move from his viewing spot just yet and the presence of a storm cloud did nothing to speed his feet to this stranger. Ard shook his head a moment later and started forward It is silly to just stand and stare, much less it was rude.  Ardashir offered a call to the other a greeting and a way to let the male know that company was on its way. He paused once more though a about four feet from the other male not wanting to invade and personal bubble..
    Ardashir
    The blue in an ocean of grey..
    #3
    I am not afraid... I was born to do this.
    He had washed upon her shoreline, drenched and exhausted, but rather than discard him she allowed him to stay. He is your brother, that voice said at her side just as it does not from the crevices of her mind.

    Nayl blinks slowly while standing on the beach, watching him idly before he is approached by a young boy. She doesn’t join them, not yet. It is still almost startling that she even has a brother. For years – decades? – she assumed all her siblings dead. Often she wondered if they inherited their father’s immortality like her. Then again, she never made a great effort to find any of them. Bloodlines are so muddled nowadays anyhow.

    Nonetheless, he is her brother and he is here now. Their lives have been forcibly intertwined and she feels almost obligated to hold onto that familial thread no matter how uncomfortable and unfamiliar it may be. The muscles in her jaws clench as she glances back to them, then to the sea, then to them again. Even as a foreboding storm looms overhead, Nayl exhibits no need for rushing. When she takes her place among between them it is at her own leisurely pace, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. ”I haven’t really seen you since you washed ashore.” Surely he hasn’t taken advantage of assuming he escapes all scorn and consequences because he is the Queen’s brother?

    No, he can’t be so foolish as that.

    ”And what’s your name?” She regards the young boy now, genuinely curious as to who he is and where he came from. It’s in her nature to be familiar and to know those among her. That’s when she looks at Buckthorn again. ”I want to know more about you. I have but a name and a vague knowledge that we’re related. That’s it.” There is an underlying hope that she can trust him, but the probability of it still lies just outside her reach.


    queen of nerine
    daughter of covet & myrina
    #4
    Well, this is a sticky situation now. He was picking up on the body language between the two older horses. Ard lowered his head some as the mare seemed to be of a higher standing than he was. Then again the colt had not yet proven himself worthy of rank so in that fact even his own mother lorded over him. The colt of course knew that his mother was not lord over him in any way at all. She was a friend and of course a loved one.

    He raised his blue eyes to the mare as she asked his name and he answered her, “ I am Ardashir.” Ardashir lowered his head in greeting, “ I seem to have stumbled into a personal meeting I am sorry.” The colt said as he started to back out of the meeting. “ A pleasure to meet you both.” He was not sure if it would be ruder to just say a name and then book it or, stick around and be a third wheel in this whole thing.

    He stood and swung his tail stuck in not knowing to stay or go.
    Ardashir
    The blue in an ocean of grey..
    #5

    life unfolds in pools of gold
    I am only owed this shape if I make a line to hold


    He isn’t alone in his deep thoughts for long.  Soon, he hears the soft fall of small hooves on the sand.  They are at once hurried and hesitant, as if the head that directs them is unsure of where exactly they should go.  Or, perhaps they are unsure if where they are going is where they should be, if they are safe in his company.  Buck smiles a little at that before turning to see the youngster.  “Hey mister.  How’s it going?”  He keeps his body facing the horizon so that he doesn’t look like a threat.  He’s lost none of his bulk built from the range; the dunes are a punishing but effective workout as he climbs up and down them every day.  Jagged scars from wildcats hug his shoulders, blunt scars from stallions pepper his hindquarters.  He looks rough and rugged, but everything in his posture says otherwise.  “I’m Buckthorn.  How about you?”
                    
    The kid stays back, and his distance draws the males brown eyes further inland.  Nayl comes next, languid like one of those same wildcats in her unrushed arrival.  He isn’t sure she will be nearly as easy to handle, though.  The truth of their shared blood rings in his ears in Heartfire’s voice on the day she said it.  It is undeniable, the same patchwork quilt of black and white stretching their frames.  The same stubborn streak is there that made her a queen and made him stick to this spit of sand when he should have left long ago.  But even if they have the same DNA planted in their cells, it doesn’t mean they owe each other anything.  He stays because he wants to know more, to know her.  To know himself, even.
                    
    Long-held breath whistles through his parted teeth when she draws next to him. 
                    
    “By design,” Buck answers, staring solemnly at the grey waves crashing ahead of them.  He counts his heartbeats until it is uncomfortable, the silence that falls like an anchor between them.  Then a slow and crooked grin starts on his lips.  He looks at Nayl then, fully.  His brown eyes wash nutmeg in the sudden light of the sun peeking through the storm clouds as he searches her gaze.  Did she think he meant to join them?  Did she mistake his participation in her pits for roots he was setting into unsettled sand?  It hadn’t been his intention, hadn’t been his plan (not that he’s ever had one of those).
                    
    He lets that go for now, releases her gaze at the same time.  The boy still lingers beside them.  It is to him he turns next when the colt apologizes and makes to depart.  “No worries, kid.”  Buckthorn nods and smiles as he moves away, the sound of the ocean finally swallowing his hoofsteps.  The two are alone, brother and sister.  The Iron-Queen dives into more than perfunctory questions and he is unsurprised.  I want to know more about you“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”  The stallion leans on his weak attempt at humor (wondering, vaguely, if she is in possession of the tiniest funny bone or if she’d sooner gut him here messily by the water for quick clean-up) before straightening up. 

    “I know only a little more than you, I’m afraid.  Myrina birthed me outside of the Jungle and left me on my own too early.  My dad was named Mrydon and that is all she told me about him.  Beqanna was never my home.  I ran to the… to the sea (a lie, he’d gone to the Beach) and followed it to another place.  I kept to the wild lands outside of it, the plains and prairies, made my own family there.  I was a weak boy who became a stronger man for raising myself, building myself.  Now, I’m not sure where I fit in here.  Everywhere is a stranger save for the sea.”  He looks wistfully out to it now before turning back to Nayl with a soft smile.  “And you?  Are you Myrina or Mrydon’s daughter?” 

     

    buckthorn

    #6
    I am not afraid... I was born to do this.
    ”Ardashir,” she tastes his name with a softened consideration and a tilt of her head. The long, unruly forelock that reaches down to her muzzle slides placidly to the side to frame her pretty face. ”I apologize for having met you so late,” she adds quietly to him, hating herself for the delay in recognizing those within her own home. How could she let motherhood distract her so much? A bittersweet thing it is! Nayl has treasured the family she helped establish, and she thought she could easily balance them with the success of Nerine, but it’s a greater struggle than she had anticipated. Blinking, she turns her autumn eyes to Buckthorn, his body still wet from the ocean’s tide. ”You can stay, Ardashir. It may not be entirely interesting, but you can learn a little about your Queen and her brother,” a feeble grin tries desperately to brighten the sharp edges of her face. Very few know much about her, but she grants the boy a weak opportunity to absorb any information about his stranger queen.

    Somehow, amid the questioning and uncertainty, Buckthorn manages to elicit an airy chuckle that rumbles from her throat and eases any remaining tension in the air among them. ”Don’t get used to it. My nice moments are few and far between,” that warning had once been true years ago, but the ice encasing her heart has since melted. With a concentration masked behind her forelock, Nayl considers his tale, of mother and his father, of his solitary life and how little Myrina played in it. If there had been one thing Myrina was poor at, it was being a mother. Her loyalty to the Jungle was weak, never laboring for its cause but breathing its humid air. For a long minute, Nayl tries to remember the mare. The memory is so distant and just out of her reach at first, but she glances to Ardashir and kindles few childhood moments.

    ”Myrina was my mother,” she admits, ”and Covet was my father.” The truth of her lineage has rarely left the confines of her lips, keeping information stowed away in the secured crevices of her mind. ”I grew up in the Jungle and met father a few times. Mother was quite smitten with them. Myrina wanted me to be the successful Jungle daughter that she never was. Apparently, she was one hell of a disappointment for a Queen’s daughter.” A shrug ripples through her shoulders, unaffected by the reputation their mother once had. ”She died during childbirth. I wandered the Jungle until Beqanna ate itself practically. I was here when some of the sisters joined together to create Nerine. Naga took the throne and I didn’t trust her. I let her rule for a year… maybe two? Then I challenged for the throne and obviously won.” Again, she glances to the boy. The new generations don’t know her story or how she came to rule the black shoreline, but the truth can spread now once more. She was – is – a warrior.

    ”Ardashir, do you know who your parents are?”


    queen of nerine
    daughter of covet & myrina




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