"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
She waited for the flame licked mare to make her leave from the field before she made her way to the ocean kingdom. She had forced her body to take her here in a days time, the journey proving easy enough. Rant had known she angered hte mare, that was evident form the reaction of the two women. One had turned and left them to their own fares, though Amarantha planned to visit her soon enough. The other had spoken with firm words before taking her own leave of sorts, and Rant took that as a personal invitation to follow.
She stood upon one of the sea facing cliffs and stares at the coming storm. It seemed to follow her almost. As if the mare could never have any peace. She swallowed her pride then and called out to the ebony mare. It was clear enough that both women had secrets locked in the darkest confines of their souls that made them want nothing but to scream at times. Rant craved the release of sharing, but today was not the day she would find her euphoria. Instead, she waits in silence her back turned to anyone who wished to approach, the wind whipping her tail against her hocks in furious swings. She relaxes and closes her eyes, waiting on the Nerinian Queen.
03-02-2018, 07:21 PM (This post was last modified: 03-02-2018, 07:24 PM by Hestia.)
She turns and walks away without another word. No more games, if she came, she came. Hestia can just walk it off. It’s not as if she’s never been riled before, just that its been so long that she has no wish to dwell on it. Instead she gets back to the kingdom and spends the next day dealing with the many things that require her attention. Dismissing the events from her mind as soon as she crosses back into her borders. She’s returning from another kingdom when she takes note of the black and green mare against the cliff.
Hestia doesn’t hurry to meet her, there is time. The voice carries to her, confirming her assumptions. The winds kick up grabbing at her tail, toying with her mane and forelock. Hestia is taking on the land in her looks, wild and confident as she wades through the sea grass. Does she want to scream? No, she’d much rather watch the world burn until it offered up to her the one thing that she wants from it. Her children. Then maybe burn some more for payment of its tendency to enjoy her suffering. She’s a bitch, and she likes it. Being a bitch gets you so much further in life then any sweet jane, or timid mary persona ever could. She arrives, standing next to the mare with a ghost of a smile. Glad you could make it.Instead of watching the world burn she quells her temper, patiently waiting for the day to arrive that she can make a move to bring her children back. She will get her children back, someday. However, she can understand the desire to scream. She can understand the need to share, and who knows maybe it will come up. Maybe Rant will have a chance to do as she desires. The day has just begun.
She doesn’t look to the other, not out of any residual anger, far from it. More in companionable silence. Watching the foreboding storm swelling and growling fighting to free itself from its constraints, reaching and clawing its way towards Nerine. She turns her neck, so she can look the other in the eyes, anything in particular that interests you? From this vantage point they can see all the land, the mountains that tuck them securely away from the outside world. The stoic cliffs that buffer the waves from consuming their residents in tsunamis. The beaches that foals frolic on, watched by parents tucked in the caves that offer the privacy for intimate moments… She shakes her head, it’s a beautiful place, and if the mare can’t see that now. Hestia doesn’t know what could convince her of the worth this place has to inspire the protection it so deserves.
HESTIA
The devil whispered in my ear, you’ll never survive the storm I whispered back, I am the storm
Well, if you're looking for someone to spill all your deepest, darkest secrets to, then you came to the right kingdom my dear Rant. In all the far and wide land, the most betokened Emotional Wreck stood just within the borders you so slowly approach, feeling as if she could use a good drenching in emotional sewage. Yes, why yes, that sounded quite pleasant!
Too bad today won't be the one for your euphoric release, eh?
She approached the pair quietly, feeling the thick energy that passed between them like an unspoken promise. It touched her, too, deep where she had yet to feel such connection again with anyone besides Hestia. The souls gathered her were all alike... This she could tell simply by their auras.
She slid up on the other side of Rant, offering her own thoughtful and silent gaze to the group. Her own eyes (red-yellow and molten) drifted mostly to the cliffs, to where the sea constantly sloshed and cried, reminding her of her Jungle's constant cacophony of noise. It was the closest thing to home that she could find in the new Beqanna - and she loved it dearly. Just as her queen did.
And perhaps, just as Rant would.
"Something tells me you have a knack for war." It's undeniable, the similarity between the three of them: she knew that the other two black mares must feel it, too. The ties were undeniable. "I'm Scorch. Hestia's second in command."
The ocean reminded her of her child. It's mournful song a soft reminder of what she had done to get here. A reminder of the things she would have to do to stay here. When the first woman joins her silence envelops them both like an old friend, its arms squeezing them almost painfully. In no time they are joined by another equally as quiet. Between the two Rant senses centuries of history, their stories pulsing like maggots upon days old war grounds. It is in the silence that the molten mar begins to speak. Her words are brief, however, and soon there is a silence once more.
"Your intuitions are correct."
The voice that erupts it gravely and water-worn from days of silence. Rant was like that. Speaking was a last resort for the olive witch. It was something she avoided entirely if possible.
"I am Amarantha, a wanderer."
Perhaps today the title would change. She had come to listen for once. Though she speaks her voice stays trained on the broiling ocean, her eyes a pale mirror for the creatures lurking beneath.
"A pleasure to meet you."
Beside her, Hestia has stayed silent. This does not shock the multi-toned mare however, it simply soothes her.
It’s quiet, it’s loud, it’s soothing and rough. It’s harsh and unforgiving, but it also cradles them, protecting and comforting them. The ocean is home now for Hestia, its perfect for all they need in this world. A reminder, a difference. It’s just a complex mess of all sorts of things. She watches rant from the side of her eye. Then she hears Scorch, a tender flame rising in her chest.
She stretches out her nostrils in greeting to her dear friend. It is good to see you Scorch, there is a tenderness in her voice, one that she reserves for a few sparse friends she holds close to her soul. You are welcome to join the warriors ranks if you would like. Heartfire, my General, leads them. She thinks to the other mare that had caught her attention, she’d not heard from the woman in a while. This worries Hestia, and she thinks maybe she needs to check up on her again and make sure that all is okay.
Setting thoughts, and notes of all she needs to do aside she turns her attention back to the situation at hand. Or, you could join my diplomats under Scorch. Currently they are the more active branch as we are establishing ourselves politically in Beqanna. There are so many opportunities about to rise for this branch she is glad to have many of them. Yet she feels the depletion of her warriors. They must begin filling these ranks as well. She falls quiet once more giving room for the other two to speak. They don’t know it yet, but they are going to need warriors soon, and lots of them. Nerine has never been a trusted, nor friendly kingdom. Yet they have been depended on and feared. Should they appear weak now, things will not look good for the oceanic kingdom.
Looking back out to the ocean, her lips frown as they stand there admiring all of beqanna laid out before their eyes. If only they could see what she sees. Scorch is one of the few that can see the picture she holds in her mind. Maybe Rant would also be one of these women. The black hag gives a side look to the mare between the two leaders. Would she be as eager to bring the world in the direction Hestia and Scorch whisper and dream about? Would she put effort into bringing the rest of Beqanna to heel when the time came?
Right now Hestia watches, she watches all she can, notes all that enter her borders, and all who leave. Those who follow her loyally, and those who drift in and out with the tide. She is looking for initiators and those who inspire. Those who can see what she sees. She is watching, calmly, patiently, seeing who it is that will be there to be the rock that Nerine is built on.
Hestia greeted her advisor warmly, and the two exchanged a touch of greeting and friendship. Quickly, however, both their attention went to the mare at hand, and their camaraderie fell into the background: important, but for now, understated.
The foreigner's voice sounded gravely, with a tone that suggested days of silence; Scorch couldn't relate to the need for wordlessness. Even in the afterlife, the ugly mare had talked her face off, mostly to Hestoni; but then again, they had spent what felt like an eternity wrapped in each other's embrace, knowing that their presence was the only thing carrying them through that cold, lifeless place. Her heart twanged at the memory of her husband, and she extended a thread of thought toward him ever so gently.
I'm coming to get you as soon as I can, mio fuoco.
I know, my love; but do not mourn me. I await your presence with the patience of an undying sun. Every morning, it is in your name that I rise.
Her lips curled in a secret smile at his words, stowing away that warm feeling for later when the loneliness of life set in once more. But for now, the olive witch at hand. "The pleasure is ours, Amarantha. You belong in Nerine, that much is clear." And her words were genuine; again I say, the three mares were kindred spirits, and there were none among them who could deny the kinship.
"As for war or peace, it's not necessarily one or the other. I chose to participate in both castes, long ago when I first joined the Amazons; the benefit of having a battle-ready body and a mind that can navigate the intricacies of virulent politics is almost immeasurable. I'd recommend it, though of course it's your decision." She spoke firmly, eyes scanning the horizon, the occasional glance sent towards Amarantha. "At any rate, immerse yourself in Nerine. There are many who dwell here. There are many for you to meet."
Settling back, she listened for Rant's response, at peace with her position in this conversation, and in Beqanna at large.
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