"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
The autumn sun was setting as Kataclysm walked into the meadow. Everything was gold, or gold-hued it was fitting of her mood. The whole of Beqanna could burn for all she cared. If she could make her white glowing star glow red she would. She stopped on top of a small rise in the flat lands, a mound if you will. Nothing was right, even after the time she was off, away, an not here didn’t change this putrid place enough. Kat had taken to the Amazons to see if maybe there in the dense jungle she could escape the knowledge that everything was not all right. Even within the dense forest removed from the world she still was haunted by everything she hated.
The black mare glared out at the open space, the cool breeze wisped her red, green, gold, and silver tinsel mane out and she was sure the scene would be considered beautiful by others, or just another, anyone but her. She may have played up the scene flaunted herself around for the want of attention, but today was not that day. Today she wanted fire, she wanted blood, she wanted the rusty corpse in a pile of red rust. She stomped her elegant hoof. Even when mad she would attract attention she was stately, poised, commanding of attention. She didn’t want it. She wanted all reminders of her silly little family and their elemental ideals gone---irradiated. That moment would hold all the vindication she would ever need for the rest of her life, and then she would look for attention- be open to it.
Everywhere the little Covelings ran vapidly about, well she found it so…vapid. Everyone else was in a tizzy about them and their little iron statue, Khaos. She stomped her hoof again, attempting to contain her frustrations. She was so worked up that she had the weirdest dream recently. She was human, and she was fighting in some war on some holiday the two-leggers called ‘Christmas’ and it was so vivid that even now she wasn’t sure it was real, but that same day she woke up with this odd mane, it wasn’t right and she couldn’t be bothered with it. She needed to focus. She needed to… just… ”ARRRGHHH!” The shout escaped her before she could stop it. He scrapped at the golden-tinted grass and muttered quietly to herself,”You have got to be kidding me, first this ridiculous mane, now I can’t even control myself?! Something has got to give. Kataclysm exhaled in a huff. There was nothing to do about it now, but she wanted to, oh so much so she wanted to.
He has had issues with commitment lately. And truly, he is a male and why is that of importance. Everyone, especially young brutes tend to struggle with commitment. They tend to bounce and flounder and do what they may. But Dalten, he is not just any stallion.
He is Lagertha’s son.
He is Tiphon’s son.
He is a Dale and Amazonian representative without having been asked or volunteered.
And perhaps this is why he hides in the shadows of the meadow days on. He struggles to commit himself to the Dale because of the pressure it holds. He cannot possibly seek refuge in the Amazons because he has a part that isn’t necessarily welcomed.
He is just not cut out for anything.
So he hides homeless, and useless. He hides from all the agonizing pressure and politics and soaks himself in the comfort of shadows and birds. Sometimes he comes out, sometimes he sees the sun, but all other days and nights he curls up in the forest floor.
As you can see he is mildly out of practice. His social game not up to par and yet here he is hindering on the edge of the meadow as the sun begins to set wondering if today is the day he will venture out to brush up on talking.
He isn’t getting any younger.
Neither is his mother.
And the forest is becoming more and more overran by squirrels and mice.
So here he is, feeling as if he is balancing on the line of life and death, contemplating just turning around all together.
And then he sees a female.
And he cannot help but laugh, because she is decorated in seasonal taste and he finds it oddly entertaining.
And then he stops laughing, because bitches are crazy.
He meanders out, cautiously. Our Dalten has certainly grown to be a handsome one. His charcoal grey coat, deep brown eyes, and slimmer frame all thanks to his not only royal but fancy genetics.
“Hello,” he offers kindly, almost too quiet and too gentleman-like but you cannot blame him so soon, he is after all still learning the trick of the trade.
Moments past, mere moments and already her presence drew another. He was there, she heard him lurking, watching, lingering. She didn’t bother to stop her actions, as stated she couldn’t be bothered, for right now her annoyance was all consuming. That didn’t mean she wasn’t aware, she was ready for a fight, actually she was itching for one. What she wouldn’t do for a little blood letting- maybe that would calm her. The black young mare wasn’t typically blood thirsty, but her annoyance was particularly heightened and she found it was making her volatile. The gold-tinted meadow didn’t wait to abide her need to paint the town red. No, the sun waited for none and already the golden hour was waning to an orange and soon, soon the sun would be red. (Then dark purples, and blues like bruises, scabs and dried blood.) The sunset gave her what her own actions could not, the ability to see everything red. It calmed her, knowing that there were ways to achieve fruition.
At her core she knew she would never act, she didn’t have the heart for it. She wasn’t really blood thirsty, and she didn’t despise the young Cove dwellers for things they didn’t really understand. But sometimes it was all so frustrating. She was tired of hearing of Khoas. It was all she heard as a child and she didn’t want to hear it now that she had grown up. Her thoughts were disrupted but the rustled leaves in the distance. She didn’t even bother turning as the other approached, she couldn’t miss the brief moment of read, and it approached. Her ear flicked back alerting the approacher that she was aware- but that was all they would get. Kat hoped they would take the hint; she was busy. She needed this moment uninterrupted. A feeble word, soft, quite, but masculine floated to her swiveled ear. She huffed an exasperated breath. Just one thing, she needed just this one moment, but she was not allowed that even. Her voice was crisp, short, like a warning; her tones a bright alto, ”Oh bugger off.” She doubted her new companion would, they never do. If he was going to stay he better pray she learn to speak up. She didn’t have time for a lost puppy.
