"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
As the days grew colder, Kat's abdomen expanded in perfect harmony with the ever lengthening nights. Beqanna was in the depths of winter, with snow clinging like an ivory blanket over all the land. This was, perhaps, the most difficult winter the glittery mare had ever endured. New aches plagued her, writhing from within terrorized her. Sure, she was healthy, as was evidenced by the pregnancy glow she sported. Yet, to say she flourished would be a lie. Some of her displeasure was based upon the inevitable discomfort that bringing new life to the Earth brought...but if she was being honest, the vast majority was simply fear. She was terrified. She was not the mothering kind. She hadn't the slightest clue what nurturing was supposed to be. She feared for the thing inside her, caring for it without consciously acknowledging that she did. She couldn't keep it no more than she could sprout thumbs and write this post. It -he- deserved better than what she could provide, and the knowledge of that terrified her.
She had contemplated the Adoption Den, thinking back to the place where she herself had gotten her start at life, but quickly she decided that it was not good enough for him. She would not set her only flesh and blood down the same path her own careless mother had set her daughter down. The path of nothingness, and wandering. The path of no family, or purpose. She would not do that to her own. She thought of taking him to one of the light Kingdoms, but discarded that, as she knew no one. Time and time again, the idea that plagued her was of the Tundra, and Hurricane. Their tryst had been nothing but heated blood and a melding of bodies, not of emotional connection. He owed Kat nothing, after all it was she who had succumbed, after a lifetime of resisting, to the potent call of lust. No, he owed her nothing, but perhaps he would take his own blood. Surely he must be a better parent than what she could be. He did, after all, command a Kingdom. He had to possess some sense of selflessness.
So late at night, she began her long journey from the Meadow. Her round frame was not as efficient at travel as she'd expected, and thus her adventure took her a handful of days before she'd even come close to the tundra's borders. As it were, she stood hesitating on the outskirts, in the shadow of a large mountain. The wind was violent, burning the cold deep into her bones. So much so, that the tiny creature she housed writhed within. She shuddered, her form almost lost in the snow flurry save for the patches of red that stood out starkly against the white backdrop. She called out, her voice echoing off of the mountain, disappearing into the distance. She could not know if it was lost to the Tundra, or if it had found its way to patrolling ears. The only thing for her to do was to wait, and hope that someone would find their way and permit her to enter. She had important business to attend, after all. .
He preferred to be hang out near the big icy wall that formed the southern border of the Tundra. The thing was still something strange to him, as it even survived the summer heath that painted the Tundra green for only a few months every year. Hurricane hadn’t been lying when he had said that the life in the Tundra could be rather hard, but to the graying male it wasn’t as bad as the place he had previously lived in. At least he was welcome here. Yet that didn’t mean that Brynmor had gotten fully used to the cold winter. Even though the spring would soon set in the lands were still covered underneath a sparkling with blanket. During the snowstorms the wall brought him some shelter. He could handle the wall’s cold, but the wind that whirled around him was something else. And since the caves weren’t meant for shelter he depended on something else.
So he is naturally close as her call echo’s across the Tundran lands. Using the wall as a guidance the blind man walks to approach her. Yes, her. It takes him little to no effort to figure that out. Brynmor had always relied more on his other senses and they had grown to become better than just average. It were these senses that make up for the blindness of his eyes. Even though the wall is still in between them Brynmor can make out her scent pretty clearly.
He is actually quite content to learn that she patiently waits at the border, calling out to them to ask for their attention and time. As he passes through the gate in the wall he senses her near. Without her moving he cannot hear the crisping sound of the snow underneath her hooves, but the heath that radiances from her body tells him where she is instead. ”Hello, what brought you to the Tundra?” he asks her, direct as always. His unseeing eyes are directed in her way, or at least, what he thinks in which way she stands. After all, Brynmor cannot see her, and his other senses – developed as they are – cannot help him meet her gaze.
He remembers her. Of course he does. Their time together had been brief, it is true, but she had given him something he had badly needed. Warmth and touch, a brief moment of forgetfulness. For a man like him, that is just about the only thing he will ever have. The only thing he can allow himself to have. His heart belongs to his home. Some would say it is as cold and icy as the place that holds it, and he would not disagree (even if he knows it is not true. There had been one, but she is long gone now. A distant, sweet memory).
He had known what the outcome of their interlude might be, though it is true he had not thought overly much about it. Not that he would not accept and welcome his own child. Only that he would not worry about it until the time came. If it came. And in this case, it seems it has.
His wings are spread wide against an icy gray sky as he rides a thermal through the air. His hard black eyes are fixed on the ground below, constantly surveying. Constantly searching for visitors or intruders. Normally the days are monotonous, dark eyes meeting only endless white far below. But today… today is different. Today there is someone here.
Brynmor is there first, greeting the newcomer in what Hurricane has come to know as his normal, rather blunt fashion. He can appreciate that about the man. He is much the same.
But this one he knows. He recognizes her features, her painted coloring even from a distance. And he knows by her distended sides just why she has come. Pulling his wings up, he drops swiftly and easily to ground, landing upon the ear with a solid thump before the pair. He eyes the mare first, noting that she seems well enough, if rather disgruntled. Turning his gaze to Brynmor then, he answers the question he had asked even though it had not been asked of him.
