"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
A gentle rustle of wings cut through the frigid winter air. A snap of breaking twigs, punctuated with quiet curse-words broke the spell of frosty night. Less-than-gracefully, a cream-and-white young mare seemingly dropped from the heavens like an erstwhile angel. Scraping against a lonely pine had slowed her decent, but had also tracked pitch and pine needles along her downy sides. Stumbling to her feet, she stared at the offending tree in disgust, and then in mute horror at her flank once she noticed the dark streaks now marring it. That was going to take forever to come out! She stomped a hoof, irritated. The sooner things started happening, the better. She needed a distraction.
Flexing her powerful snowy wings carefully, she determined that they, at least, were undamaged. Sore, the cramp that had taken her from the sky was still a throbbing knot in her right shoulder. But nothing seemed injured. She stretched the troublesome muscle out, trying to relieve some of the tension from it. She had been flying all over, looking for the right place.
At last, she had come down in this private meadow. A bit sheltered from blowing snows and ice, it would make a decent refuge while she sorted things out. She nibbled fussily at her flank, grimacing at the strong pine taste. This was absolutely dreadful, and she could feel her temper flaring, with no potential outlet in sight. With a bitter sigh, she gave up on the sticky patch of fur. She kicked at the thin layer of snow that covered the area she was in. Sad, dead grass appeared slowly. It was what she was expecting, but she still managed to be disappointed. Begrudgingly, she bent her elegant neck to take a mouthful. This would have to do until she had made a few contacts here. She had seen others like herself in the vicinity. They were who she'd seek out.
hold me in this wild, wild world 'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
He's waiting in the Meadow, because he promised his little clan he would wait here, once a month, in case they needed him. They were grown, now, or nearly, but he still worries. Daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters; they are all beloved to him, and he is loathe to leave them but he has accepted their need to make their own way. It is the littlest, his Bristol, that he worries about the most, and whom he more than half expects to find waiting for him in the Meadow.
Brennen is settled in the shadows, wings tucked away close to his sides, and half asleep when the sound of something falling startles him into instant alertness, wings coming out half mantled and muscles tensing, ready to dodge or dart or attack. It doesn't take him long to identify the fallen object - the mare is quite bright after all, and not at all sneaky. He watches her for a long moment, the way she tries to nibble the sap from her stark hide and then investigates the meager winter offering of grass, before he decides to step up and see if she needs some help. If any of his brood arrive, they will find him as long as he is still in the Meadow.
The stallion clears his throat and moves out of the shadows and brush where he had settled, a lithe bay creature forming from the dark of shadow. The fact his his overlarge black wings hide most of his body when folded, which makes him easy to hide in even semi-dark conditions if you aren't looking for him. "Hello," he offers when he is sure she has noticed him. "I'm Brennen, of Ischia. It looks like you had a little bit of an accident - do you need help?" While he speaks he is running a careful eye over the stranger, looking for any sign of damage other than sap.
hold me in this wild, wild world and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
One may wonder how you could spend YEARS in the sky. Moving from cloud to cloud. Observing the simple land-born creatures from the endless skies. Oh how they must envy them. Those blessed with flight.
When the lavender stallion had left Beqanna he had little intentions of returning. Knowing only his father's name Kirin- mother had said they were identical in everyway - and when he had set out to find him, his search came up empty. Disappointed he stayed in his clouds. Calling the very top of the mountain home. A place to rest his wings.
Solitude was dull though and he grew bored. Taking to the skies again he flew higher than most dared. The air was thinner which meant more work. Accustomed to it now it only caused him to be stronger. Muscles flexed under taut lavender hide with each stroke of feathered wing. Matching lavender mane and tail streamed behind him. Hazel eyes watching for anything of interest happening below.
Not much peeked his interest enough to render him to return to the lands. Usually only those with the ability of flight intruiged him. So when his eyes follow a bright creature with matching wings - falling much too quickly from the skies - he decides to follow. Tucking his feather appendages to his barrel he drops quickly from the atmosphere. His eyes fixed on the other, now scraping across a pine. Their landing lacking grace. He smirks.
His approach to earth is quick. Just at the right moment he spreads his feathers to grasp the air. Bringing him to land smoothly nearby. Eyes looking around as he collects his legs under him and steps towards the... others. A dark, larger equine stalks not far off. Soon nearing the same bright creature he was. The stallions voice is deep as he questions the cream mare. Lavender ears perk forward as he had halted movement to gauge the situation. The mare seeming perturbed about the pine sap clinging to her body. Thinking for only a moment before stepping forwards again. Drawing nearer to the cream and white mare.
His voice is hoarse from lack of use but it clears smoothly, "Here... Allow me." His muzzle extends to the sticky patch on her coat. The pink flesh that is his tongue glides over the area a time or two until the sap dissipates. Lacking proper socialization he doesn't realize that perhaps licking a stranger was an improper introduction... Or does he...?
Pulling away from her and a step to the side he looks to the dark stallion. Much larger in overall size where he was tall and lean. Their colors contrasted as much as night and day. Shuffling his wings at his sides he looks back to the mare, "We should work on your landing." A smirk forming on his maw.
11-17-2017, 03:34 PM (This post was last modified: 11-17-2017, 03:36 PM by Sabra.)
Not so private after all, she noted. A winged stallion approached her from the shadows. She glanced about subtly, ensuring that she had some kind of escape route in case they proved to be anything but friendly. The stallion, a tall, dark bay, whose oversized wings hid most of, came forth from the shadows. He looked old and young at the same time, and his voice was pleasant and kind. She looked herself over at his question, holding the offending wing out slightly from her flank. She stretched it out slowly, extending it to it's full length with just a wince. The knot was slowly going away, but she knew she could not fly until it did. Damn this dead-grass diet! She never had this issue when the fields were green. "A pleasure, I'm sure. I'm Sabra, of nowhere." She replied to his introduction, voice breathy and just lightly colored with pain. "Ahh... you saw that... I'll be all right, just a little cramp is all." She assured him, letting the wing drop loosely by her side.
A moment later, a second stallion arrived. As tall as the first, they both dwarfed her petite frame. For a moment she worried that her eyes were playing tricks on her. But no, as he moved through the light, she knew she was seeing true. Every inch of him, from his ears to his tail, was a lovely pale shade of lavender. Strongly muscled and with a devious look in his eye, she could tell that this man could be a kindred soul to her. That thought vanished a moment later as his rough, then smooth voice offered help. Help with what she found out seconds after as she watched him come close and dip his aquilline head to her flank, erasing the bothersome sap trails with a few languid strokes of his velvety tongue.
She was overcome with shock at this forward move. Several thoughts pushed for dominance in her mind:
How dare he touch her without asking!
Who did he think he was, exactly?!
Gods, she wanted him to touch her again...!
She settled for "I'm sorry, is it customary where you come from to bathe others without introducing yourself? Let alone critique their flight" Her tone held a bite, and she took a step back from him. Much as she had enjoyed the lavender man's proximity, there was a line that he had crossed. She did not even know his name. Her sea-blue eyes looked to Brennen for support. She was not afraid, but the bay stallion gave off the impression that he would not tolerate mischief. She felt that he would back her if she requested it.
Asleep in the shadows, I had not witnessed the mare’s fall, but I had certainly heard it.
It had definitely been her, I decide as I watch the trio from a distance, the bay doesn’t look windblown and the lavender is too composed. The words they speak are muffled, but the body language is clear. The mare is not pleased with the taller stallion and looks to the bay for support. Though I have never laid eyes on any of them, something pulls me from the underbrush where I had been resting and I approach the small gathering.
My grey-green eyes blink rapidly, still clearing away the sleep, but I hold myself confidently otherwise: from the top of my chestnut pool to the roan of my rump. The ivory wings that I hold tightly to my sides are ruffled from sleep (although pristine and well-preened otherwise) and they match my sleep tussled flaxen mane and tail. I do not look like much of a protector, but I stride into the group with a confidence that belies my less than intimidating physique.
“Is everything alright here?” I ask, fixing each member of the trio with my hazel eyes for an equal amount of time. The tone of my voice suggests I have the ability to enforce order and will not hesitate to do so. This is my corner of the Meadow, and it hasn’t ever been invaded like this before. None of them are natives of this common land, and I enjoy the solitude that I had carved out for myself here. Despite the fact that I am small, untrained, and easily subdued by anyone with even a day’s instruction in battle, there is no waver in the steeliness of my green-grey gaze.
hold me in this wild, wild world 'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
He watches when she responds, offering her a little half-smile as she claims to be fine, struggles to extend the wing that is clearly injured. Still, not broken because she is not in enough pain for that, so he assumes Sabra is correct in that it is something minor, like a cramp. Still, the bay is sympathetic, because he despises being grounded for any reason. Before he can form a response as such, though, they are joined by another, who falls much more gracefully before winding his way to them. He’s light like Sabra, but...purple. Brennen has met others quite a similar color, one the father of one of his great-grandchildren.
He frowns at the easy, proprietary way the man steps forward and licks Sabra, and all of his muscles tense but the cream-and-white girl is still, not drawing away, so he forces himself to hold until she breaks away, steps back, and then Brennen frowns, about to respond when the other little mare joins them, fierce even in her small stature. He gives her a nod, and a long stare at the purple stallion as he takes a half-stride forward, close enough to place himself between Sabra and the purple if she requests his aid. “No, it is not customary,” the drawl in Brennen’s voice is lazy, but there is an edge that says he could become more than an ornament in very short order. “I'm Brennen,” he offers his name again for the newcoming mare’s benefit before turning back to the stallion. “I don’t think we caught your name.”
It is curious, for the four of them all to have wings. Beqanna is a gifted place, truly, but still often their gifts are different. Perhaps they have all come to seek the companionship of others who love the skies, today.
hold me in this wild, wild world and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
A semi-hostile step forward of the bay confirms to him that perhaps he had over stepped some boundary. The grin he sported remained as he stood firm on his position. The cream mare speaks - a lavender ear tilted her way - but his hazel-silver eyes remain on the bay for a moment more. Her question lingers briefly. When the stallion then answers for him, he is surprised that possibly he knew where he is from. Or better yet, mistaking him for his father. His lavender crown pulls away from the thoughts of this stallion knowing his father to view the mare. "If I introduce myself...than would it be acceptable to groom you again...?" His voice charmingly seductive.
His vision held the face of the bay stallion which turned to another joining the group. Not following immediately to see exactly who was crawling from the shadows, his eyes remain scanning over the cream mare. Brennen's voice carries his introduction to the other before turning his sights and questioning to him. He overlooks the question asked of him asthe others soft voice questions the group. Her question coaxing his silver eyes to the small dark mare. Noting her set of dark wings but other than that his eyes don't linger long.
Tossing the inquiry around in his mind, he thinks to the mare near him grazing the pine. Realization that she possibly had been hurt in her rough landing comes to the forefront of his thoughts. Twisting his lavender face to view her again. "Are you alright, Dove?" His question is sincere and since her name was not caught he associates her with the heavenly white avian.
They now numbered four. For winged creatures of air, which was better than Sabra had hoped she'd find, especially her first day here. She is glad to see the red roan mare stride in with confidence, and even she stands just taller than Sabra herself. The cream and white lady dips her head in greeting. "Yes, I think so, sister. But stay a while. You may be interested in what I have to say." Sabra replied, smiling warmly at the roan.
She paused as Brennan moved closer, and made his position known to the lavender stallion. She appreciated his gallantry, but hopes it is not necessary. They were fine creatures, each of them, and bickering did not become them.
The still unnamed stallion answered Brennen, but his words are directed at her. She shakes silken stands of forelock from her clear blue eyes before responding, tilting her head a little to look up at him. A short bark of a laugh escapes her at his continued impropriety. Now there was a stud who knew what he wanted. "I suppose that depends quite a bit on how much I like your answer." She finally voices, a soft lilt giving music to her tone. She held his grey eyes with her blue ones a moment, calculating. This was a game, it was all a game.
She turned to address the group as a whole, but a sudden stroke of concern from the lavender gave her pause, as he twisted around to see her more fully. Looking her over, not in appraisal this time, but in worry, she thinks his question to her well being is a true one. Shaking out her wings again, yes, almost better, she nods unconcerned. "Of course. Nothing keeps me from the sky for long." She answered simply. "And my name," she began, addressing all three horses now "is Sabra. Now. Where does a winged girl usually call home around here? You can't possibly all be living here, there's no view!" She looked around at the surrounding trees in mild disdain. It was damn near claustrophobic. While it might suit common land dwellers just fine, she demanded space and beauty and free, open air with her home.
@[Brennen] @[Klaudius] @[Delia]
OOC: typed on my phone, I apologize for possible spelling and grammar errors.
The bay stallion introduces himself to me as Brennen. The name is familiar, a tale out of a childhood story. Is he the Brennen? Peerless warrior, brother of the Tundra? He is bay, after all, with too-large black wings. I peer at him for a moment too long, unaccustomed to polite manners.
“Delia.” I say firmly, and turn back to the lavender stallion. He ignores me almost entirely, as though I am merely a prop in the background of his conversation with the snowy mare. The way he speaks to her is unfamiliar, a smooth sort of tone that seems to shake off the dust of misuse on certain of my own feelings. The sensation is not entirely comfortable, and I look back to the other female. She is smiling, a safety net that I can fall into.
The tension seeps from my shoulders as I respond to her answer by lowering my own guard. It was a close call; I had been only an instant awake from losing my nerve. How embaressing that would have been! I am grateful to the pale mare, and even when she insults my homeland I cannot truly take it to heart.
“Oh I like it here,” I tell her, “But then, I’ve never been anywhere else in Beqanna. ”
The sky is generally clear today, and Krone takes the opportunity to fly from Ischia to the meadow to possible recruit newcomers or to just find something interesting to do. She flies near the water today with the gulls, enjoying their caws to each other and playfully trying to mimic them like she had as a child. A pod of whales comes up from beneath the water for a breath, spraying salty sea water upon her underbelly. She laughs almost childishly, giving her wings a good swing and ascending towards the sun.
It doesn't take her long, and before she knows it the rolling fields of tall grasses and dots of colorful flowers are in view. Hardly any others come into her line of site, that is, until she sees a small group near a thicket of several trees. A flash of lavender catches her attention and her chest pounds.
Could it be? Was it really him?
Before she knows it, she has landed in the middle of the group, in that moment not really caring about the others. She sees a familiar face, Brennen, and two strange mares, one red and one cream. But none of that seems to matter, as she comes up close to the purple stallion, hazel eyes wide, wondering if it truly could be him.
"Dad? Kirin...?" She asks of him, face nearly touching his. She needs to know if this is him, and then she would get on with introductions later.
But watch the Queen conquer
She thinks Klaudius is Kirin, who is her father as well lmao.
