"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
I feel like a diseased corpse, idling beneath the dying sun and thundercloud strewn sky. Waiting, waiting with a dread on my shoulders of what was to come -- vultures, I predict vultures with snaring eyes and expert tongues. But these are all little fantasies in my head, spinning little tales upon a never-ending tapestry. The problem there is, I'm not one for sewing, so my tales, fantastical little things, often fall apart in my grip. Like now; my eyes wandered the field, blankly staring out from beneath the sodden veil of red mane. There was nothing much out here, most were under cover, beneath canopies of naked tree limbs. Clever, I thought. Unlike me, still standing idle, alone, getting absolutely drenched by the torrenting gales of rain. The shivering did not subside, it only enhanced, but what did change was the temperature around me, another was near.
Oh, wait, he was too near. I bent away from him immediately, ears flickering, pinning. I heard tales of stallions, their wanton eyes and illustrious intentions. I blew a quaky breath, a snort, which ended up a spray of rain and clouded breath. 'Dreadfully sorry there. Is this your land, am I in your way? I'll just be moving over here then.' I nodded, purposely, shaking red tendrils and allowing the sodden clumps to spill over my face, my thickset neck. I sidestepped, again and again until I was further from the black steed. Oh, wait, was it their custom here, in this new world, to greet strangers with intense body contact? I shivered, the cold numbing my insides, but more so from his touch. A vision catches my eye, red, flickering like fire against the autumnal backdrop. My emerald gaze transfixes, watched with a curious eye. Was she to greet me the same? intensity, so forward?
She doesn't. And this pleases me, the wrought nerves in my shoulders loosen ever so slightly. Sinews flexing beneath my skin before becoming taut again. 'New? Yes, yes. This world is strange! does everyone greet everyone else with so much intensity?' my question hangs in the air, my eye turning to capture he black steed. 'Dreadfully sorry, but I'm not used to... such greetings.' My gaze reverts back to Scorch. Queen. Royalty. My eyes flicker, ears matching, flickering to and fro. Oh. I've never met royalty before. I feel like some clumsy oaf of a vessel, soaking wet and imposing. I'm about to answer Scorch when another enters the foray. What happened to the empty fields? why do popular in the cascading rain? I shiver, a delightful trail to the very top to the end of my spine, which twitches out with a crack of my tail. Another royal, oh, I feel out of my depth. Swimming, drowning almost. I stammer, lips drying, cracking beneath my parched mouth. Two more surface and I feel very much like a dying animal, waiting for the vultures to pick at my tender bones and weak flesh. Oh, I'm feeling dreadfully weak right now. I turn my emerald gaze to each, slowly, deliberately slow.
'Are there so many crowns here, that many wear them?' I question, generally honest in my degree. The rain trickles down my shoulders, running from my ears down my nose, tickling my nostrils as I blow a sharp snort, ridding of the stray droplets. 'I'm Eld. Simply, Eld. It's lovely to meet you all -- in such circumstances too. How very kind of you all to come and greet me... You didn't have to... go to so much trouble.' I eye them all up again. The stallion, Scorch, Blue Lightning Star, the beautiful adorned one with angelic wings, and the last, Fiasco. my gaze idles on her for the longest. She has scars, which means she has many tales to tell. I offer her a smile, she, after all seems unperturbed by her appearance. And why should she? It gives a new character, a sense of something else. I wonder then, if that was why my father gave my mother so many scars? To add character? I shake away the past, dreadfully dull in comparison to the many that have circled me. I feel completely unnerved as they watch me. Cold, shivering. I then realise, imprudently, what I have forgotten. They must be here for a reason, I am after all, new blood per say.
'Is there something you're not telling me... have I crossed some strange border that only those with crowns of gold can possibly cross? I am dreadfully sorry if I have.. I will take my leave--' my words stammer and fall in clumsy pieces from my pink lips. The cold is getting to me, strange, as one so large, one so full of hair. But the dampness has seeped it's iciness into my bones, the marrow within. Clawing at my heart like an unwanted worm, burrowing deeper. The chill grows and I find myself sneezing, coughing. Trembling. I look up, my sneezing rage dispersing, only trembles of ice cold skin shaking my body, my face. My red forelock falls, wet and heavy across one eye, but the other watches them all, and I try to smile.
'Somewhere dry, somewhere warm. I would like that very much... if it's not too much trouble.'
