"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
There is a time to mourn and a time to sleep; a time to run, and a time to dream. There is a time to dwell on things in the past, and a time to move forward without trepidation.
If anything, Yael has demonstrated that she is here to stay - to live and love in the Desert and protect it with every fiber in her being. She is dedicated, and she needs other who are dedicated. Vanquish is not enough. They need three. Or four. Or more. They need Shah, and they need him to stop moping around and do something. Unless he doesn’t intend to stay.
The silver-maned woman stands at the top of one of the giant red rocks at the border, while the sun sets in radiant pink and violet hues behind her. Warm brown eyes scan the horizon, physically looking and mentally feeling for Shahrizai. The wind blows warm again, even though the falling sun means a drastic drop in temperature. Spring is here, and soon summer will be too. It ruffles the outer edges of her feathers, and she smiles slightly. “Shahrizai…” she calls quietly. Gently. She is not mad. Shahrizai… ahr you still xere?
All things are possible, even the worst of things.
He has, it seems, acquired an impressive ability to brood along with his ability to sculpt shadows like clay. Even in his great despondency, he has come to realize this. You see, he has never been one agonize over anything for long periods of time, so this is truly impressive, even for him. But in the end, his natural vitality would win.
Sometimes, it just takes a little time and a good friend to pick up one’s spirits.
Of course, as it is, he has never been terribly decisive either. So perhaps it isn’t all that surprising that has suffered under cloud of uncertainty while he comes to terms with his new life. With his new self. Because, for better or for worse, he has changed. He is no longer the same carefree man that had once quite happily trodden upon these sands. Change is inevitable, but the extent of it was not something he had expected.
But he had learned much of himself in the midst of his remaking. Not all of them good things. Not even most of them good things. But they are things he is now coming to realize had been there all along. He had simply hidden them beneath the veneer of a blithe and careless boy. He has become a man in truth now. A man who must now answer for his actions (or lack thereof, as the case may be).
It is impossible not to know that she is looking for him. She has a way of making her keen interest clear. And so, he finds her. Were he being fully honest, he would admit that he had been hiding. Stealing himself away from a world that had changed too much and too rapidly for him to handle with any kind of dignity. But even if he won’t say it aloud (well, not to anyone except a certain black and white mare with lovely eyes of burnished gold), he has a feeling that she already knows. She knows far more than he could possibly conceive, he thinks.
He finds her easily enough, her golden frame readily visible against the red of the rock she perches on. Long shadows fall upon the desert as the sun sets beyond him, cloaking him in a heavy veil of twilight. He had fought those shadows once, believing they had only come to him because of the darkness staining his soul. But he embraces them now, recognizing them for the allies that they are. He steps forward, held in their cool embrace as eyes of chocolate brown find her. He offers her a small, almost hesitant smile as he acknowledges her request.
”Yael.” Pause. ”I’m here.
And he is. He had given his loyalty to the kingdom. And even if he is not always present, he would always return.
It may not make much sense, but she thinks of certain kingdom members as if they were a version of her children. Perhaps it is because she counts the years as one might count the grains of sand in the Desert. Not old, compared to some, but old enough that the grandmotherly nature in her is heavily present. She’s known Shah since he was little more than a colt, come test his mettle at the hands of the fickle Desert Gods. His elimination was not of her choosing, and she ultimately finds it rather ironic that he remains, while Cam and Pevensie are gone.
Perhaps this is what they intended all along.
She has no intention of making him answer for anything, though the once-Queen has found that a gentle prodding as a reminder can do little harm. She, herself, is no great role model of activity, finding instead that it ebbs and flows as surely as the tides and the moon. Theirs is a gentle kingdom; theirs is the sleeping lion (dragon might be a more apt analogy, but oh well) that rouses itself when needed, and then falls back to sleep beneath the Serengeti sun. Few may realize that its eyes are only half closed, its complacency feigned in a self-assured type of way. They have nothing the other Kingdoms want, and with Vanquish at the helm again, she imagines a certain reputation might precede them.
Either way, Yael is forgiving. She hopes he knows that. It’s been a long time since they last spoke - the brief meeting when Van claimed the throne can hardly count. She offers Shah a reassuring smile, saying simply “T’is ees my favoreet time of day… You can’t get color like t’is anyvere else een B’kanna.” She pauses, mulling that statement over. “Eexcept ze Tundra, maybe. But still.” She chuckles at herself, a tinkling sort of sound that falls from her mouth like a strum on a sitar. After a moment, she fixes him with a slightly questioning gaze before beginning. “Ees everyt’ing alright, Shah? Ve haf meesed you.”
