"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
11-20-2015, 03:33 PM (This post was last modified: 11-20-2015, 03:34 PM by Hurricane.)
He keeps his pace steady, glancing back occasionally to ensure that Brynmor had not fallen on his face somewhere along the way. Although, if he had, he is not entirely sure he wouldn’t have just left him. He would guess that the man had long since grown accustomed to his blindness, and therefore would have figured out how to walk without falling into things all the time. If he hadn’t, well, then he needed to learn, didn’t he?
Before long the tree dotted landscape of lower Beqanna is giving away to the wider, less forested expanse of the north. The land becomes flatter, trees falling away into scrubby brush. The lush grass of the meadow and field give way to the hardier varieties that thrive in the northern climes. The air grows steadily colder, more brisk. While fall can be quite pleasant in the more southern regions of Beqanna, in the Tundra it is already growing wintry. This is heartily attested to by a few stray snowflakes that fall determinedly into the scrubby grasses as they walk.
Before long they reach the massive ice wall that looms over the borders of the kingdom. Its shadow falls over them, bringing a further chill to the air. Hurricane angles easily for the single opening in the colossal wall, leading the gray stallion through the lone entrance of the kingdom. Unless one has wings, of course.
When finally they have passed through the wall, Hurricane draws to a halt. Turning, he assesses the other man, seeing how he had fared on the journey here. When he speaks, his words are simple, welcoming the blind stallion to his new home in his own way.
”You and I might know that, Hurricane. But there are others who might need some convincing before seeing it too.” With that he meant both those of his past and those he might come across in the future. Brynmor would prove them he wasn’t useless, instead he would play their game along, or pretend to be doing so at least, before striking back.
’Like you would be match for them, you’ve never trained any muscle in your body’ is the nagging voice in his mind. Gritting his teeth he frowns as he still follows Hurricane. ”I’ll prove them otherwise” he replies his imaginary friend out loud, voice confident but also irritated at the same time. ’Oh, please, Brynnie. You’ve never trained a single muscle in your life, how would you be able to stand up against them? You KNOW you cannot.’ To which Brynmore replies with a soft and simple ‘shut up’, that is almost inaudible because of the wind.
The graying blind male is pretty capable of moving around without too much trouble, if he was allowed to keep his own pace. Even the slowest walk needed his full concentration, not alone did Brynmor have to be alert for any possible danger he would stumble upon, but he also needed to take in all the sings he got from his surroundings. Every step he makes is scanned and measured, he depends on it and taking his time helps Brynmor to avoid colliding into obstacles.
Uneven ground and roots meant that there were trees near, just like the sounds of running water meant that he was close to a creek. The small things tell him enough to determine his steps, but it all was quite slow. That Hurricane lead him sped the walk a little up, because Brynmor was confident that the other male guided him in the right direction, meaning he didn’t have to take that into consideration himself.
He cannot see the ice walls that visualise the kingdom’s borders, but that comes with it does. It’s colder here than it had been in the field or the meadow, but what else would you expect of the tundra? He doesn’t quite understand what caused the shadow, but the feeling is not unfamiliar to Brynmor and therefor he doesn’t pay it any mind. He had plenty of time to figure it all out anyway.
His steps grow a little more hesitant and scanning as Hurricane stops – or that is what Brynmor concludes as he cannot hear the stallion’s hooves touching the ground anymore – but after a few more calculated steps he comes to a halt too. He tips his left ear in Hurricane’s direction, but uses the other one in favour of taking in his new surroundings. ”The Tundra” he repeats, tasting the sound of it. ”Do you mind guiding me to the most important places?” he asks as he sways his head into the direction of the other stallion, pausing briefly before he continues. ”That would make it much easier to get familiar with these new surroundings.”
The Tundra, for the large part, is flat and uninteresting. With the exception of the ice wall and the small string of mountains housing the caves, there is little to run into in the rather large kingdom, at least until one got to the sea.
Brynmor had done well on the journey here, following in Hurricane’s footsteps with relative ease. Hurricane had been thoughtful enough to pick a path with fewer obstacles, for while he is a hard man, he also does not wish to be the cause of injury in their newest members. He doesn’t doubt that the gray stallion would have little trouble learning the layout of the land. Trees are scarce and hills are even scarcer, and unless he somehow manages to fall over the cliffs into the sea, he should have little trouble.
But when the other man asks for a tour, Hurricane is perfectly willing to oblige. Better he know the land a bit than having him stumble into things by accident. Especially the caves.
”I believe you’ll find the land relatively easy to navigate. It’s mostly flat. There is a wall not twenty paces behind you that runs the along the southern border of the kingdom. It’s made of ice; no doubt you’ll feel the cold before you actually hit it. We are bordered on all other sides by the sea. I’d advise you be wary of the cliffs.”
A small (nearly invisible, really) quirk touches his lips, one that could almost be called a grin. Apparently he is occasionally capable of humor, however slight. Not that Brynmor would be able to see it.
”The caves are ahead.”
Starting forward, he angles in the direction of the Tundra’s sacred caves, housed in ancient human ruins. They are faintly visible in the distance, the only hills in an otherwise flat expanse. He glances back briefly to be sure that Brynmor is following before continuing.
”There is a single river that runs through the Tundra. It’s not large, and usually it’s frozen over and covered by snow, but come summer, if you haven’t already found it, I’ll show it to you.”
They are nearing the caves now, the land beneath their feet starting to pitch upwards slightly.
”The caves.”
He nods in their direction, forgetting for a moment that the other man can’t see. They are close enough now to smell the musty air that wafts from deep within.
”These are the only hills in the kingdom. Steer clear of the caves though. Going in there can be a daunting experience on the best of days. You wouldn’t want to go in unprepared.”
Brynmor would have to face what lay within those depths eventually, but Hurricane preferred to keep his men intact until the time came.
Especially because the Tundra holds little obstacles it is hard for Brynmor to navigate himself around. With nothing standing out, nothing that is different or marks a certain place within the kingdom, he has no way of recognizing his surroundings. It would take the graying male longer to get to know where to find water and food, just as where he could find shelter if needed. And thus far the only recognizable point is the southern wall.
As long as he knows where the wall is he should be able to know in which direction he has to go, but that does mean he needs a simple map inside of his mind to know in which direction he has to go for which need. The fact that all the other borders are natural cliffs means he wouldn’t know which border he had stumbled upon, but at least with Hurricane’s warning he wouldn’t proceed too far if he would ever find himself near them. ’Maybe you should throw yourself of a cliff, you’re just their little puppet, they wouldn’t miss you at all’ his friend whispers in his ear, for Brynmor only to hear. ’Or… If you’ve finally grown some balls, you can stand up against them.
While he ignores his friend for the time being, keeping his own snapping remarks to himself, he follows the other stallion around. ”Flat lands make it harder. I don’t run into obstacles that easily, but I need them to determine my location” he replies, directly explaining himself, as his blank gaze swaying into the direction he can only guess that his companion is. Brynmor is still careful of his steps, but with Hurricane to lead the way he finds it quite easy to walk.
They start of right ahead and therefor Brynmor concludes that these caves are located in the north of the kingdom, as the border is south of them. He is told about the river and the Welch Cob hybrid nods his head to acknowledge he has heard Hurricane. ”If it’s frozen most of the time, what is the kingdom’s water supply?” Water was already a risk to the blind male, but ice was even worse. He couldn’t use visuals to take in the state of the ice and neither could he guess how deep the water under the surface was, so Brynmor rather stayed away from it, unless when he didn’t have an other choice of course.
The first time he notice that the ground level starts to rise is when he missteps slightly, his hoof landing on the ground sooner than he had estimated. But once aware Brynmor doesn’t make the same mistake twice. ”Then what is it’s purpose?” he bluntly asks. If the caves weren’t meant as a shelter, then why did the other male ‘show’ them to him? As one of his ears stats pointed in Hurricane’s direction he takes another cautious steps forward, following his nose into the direction of the caves. He would recognize the smell before entering, for now that was enough detail for his little map, but the young male couldn’t help but to feel slightly curious to why he was told not to enter them unprepared.
"Through your secret."
OOC: I feel like this post has many words but no content at all..
He had never considered that flat land might be more difficult for a blind man to navigate. Having never been blind, he is sure there are many things he does not know. No doubt this is not the last time he will make such a misstep. He speaks his mind too openly and blatantly not to.
The man’s words make sense however, and Hurricane gives a slight nod, though the other man cannot see it. It is true that the landscape in the Tundra is inordinately flat (though at least it is not the eternally shifting sands of the desert nor the constantly changing foliage of the Jungle), but he believes there should be enough landmarks to give their newest member at least some idea of where he is and which way he needs to go.
The caves and the hills surrounding them are as good of a place as any to start. As the heart of the kingdom, he would need to know where they are at any rate.
The gray stallion is speaking again, drawing Hurricane’s attention back to him as he asks where he might find water. While it is true that most of the year the only river to be found is frozen, they are never lacking in water. It simply takes the form of snow. The man’s question causes Hurricane to snort with faint amusement, though he’s not sure Brynmor would appreciate his humor.
”Snow. There’s more than enough to go around.”
Perhaps fortunately, the blind man would not have to risk either ice or water. Brynmor’s next question brings his attention back to the caves, the source of his previous distraction. He remembers quite clearly his time in the caves. It is never a pleasant experience, regardless of who you are.
”They house the kingdom’s magic. It is where our scars come from. But in order to earn our scars, we must first face our demons. That is what the caves do. Show us our demons.”
It is not something to be taken lightly, and not something one would want to face unprepared. They are designed to test the Brotherhoods loyalty to the Tundra and could be incredibly dangerous to outsiders or the disloyal.
It wasn’t like he had never come across snow, it was just that Brynmor had never relied on snow as his source of water. Sure it made sense somehow, snow simply was a solid form of water, but the idea was still strange to him. Yet not something he wouldn’t get used soon.
”Well, I guess it would be easier to melt snow than to struggle to get break the ice” he replied to Hurricane. If he would’ve been able to the blind man would’ve shrugged his shoulders, brushing his newest discovery off as something not too important. It would be a lot easier and safer for him this way, he didn’t have to risk himself near the water that he couldn’t see.
Scars. Brynmor can only frown somewhat, not too fond of this discovery. Hurricane spoke of earning his scars, like he wasn’t already scarred enough. Gryffen, the loneliness, Missy’s quest. It had all left their traces on him. Maybe not visible, but on the inside he carried them.
’That’s right. You’re fucked up enough already’ does the voice in his head chant to him in a humouring voice. ”And whose fault is that?” he replies with a soft snap, ears momentarily turning to press against his skull as he throws an angry glare to his right side – as he knew Hurricane was on his left side – to snap at his non-existing friend. ’Not mine, it’s your own fault.’”It’s not!”
Snorting one last time, mentally cursing his friend, he turns his attention back to Hurricane. ”You said something about the kingdom’s magic. It’s the first time I’m hearing of such thing” replies the winged stallion, continuing their conversation as his little argument with his friend did not happen.
In the Tundra, many things are done differently. Life simply exists in a different fashion in a land of ice and snow than it does where water runs freely and your ear tips are not in danger of freezing off nine months of the year. Here, it is almost as though everything exists in a bubble. A vacuum where all that you know is survival.
Survival and duty. That fairly well sums up Hurricane’s life. He does not mind though. It gives him purpose. (Even if he does still sometimes remember a golden mare with sunlight in her eyes. Still, he remains true to his home. He always will.)
The man’s comment when he learns that snow is their source of water causes a faint snort to escape Hurricane’s lips. It was not meant to be rude or derisive. Rather, it holds more amusement than anything. It seems the old gray stallion still has some surprises left in him.
”You’d have a time of it trying to break the ice anyway. In the dead of winter, the ice can grow to be thicker than you are tall.”
The man’s next question catches him by surprise, a quiet phrase that he snaps almost peevishly. Hurricane eyes the darker gray stallion with mild interest, wondering what had brought about the odd question and the even odder answer. Of course, it’s not the first time he had known men with personal demons, but normally they were quieter about it.
So perhaps it is fortunate then that Brynmor has so much space in which to work out his troubles.
In either case, Hurricane does not comment. He is a man of few words, and in this case, he’s fairly certain the fewer the better. Brynmor’s next question however, brings him back on topic. He nods faintly, even knowing the other man cannot see him do it.
”Each kingdom has their own form of magic. The spirit of the kingdom, essentially. Ours are the caves. They are designed to test a man’s loyalty to the kingdom when entered. They are how a new Brother is initiated.”
The corners of his lips curl up as he hears the snort coming from the winged male’s direction. It may have been faint, Brynmor’s hearing is good enough to easily recognize the sound against the whirling of the wind. Even though he had meant it as a joke, to humour himself slightly, there was no denying that he had been right. Breaking ice was harder – even when you could see – than using snow to lessen your thirst. And Hurricane’s words only confirmed it. ”Then I’ll have to learn to be most grateful of the snow” he replies, the grin still on his lip.
The voice of his friend – the one in his head – is as normal to him as any other. It has been there as long as Brynmor can remember and he doesn’t question it. Sure, Shaytan had said something about him talking to the air, but he had easily brushed those words off. He doesn’t notice that he’s the only one conversing with the voice, none of the others seem to talk to his friend or acknowledge his presence. It should all have been signs to Brynmor that something’s off, yet he doesn’t question it, as it’s a part of him that he had yet to face.
The blind man’s attention is focussed solely on Hurricane – okay, also a little to his surroundings, to make sure he isn’t bumping or tripping into and over obstacles – and he’s eager to learn about this magic. He nods, keeping silent for a moment as he still follows the winged king. ”I will have to enter them once too” he then states, ears pricked into Hurricane’s direction to make sure he won’t miss the male’s reply.
