"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
She chose the spotted king over him, all because he had trouble staying in one place.
All because her queenship changed her, and thus, him.
He is bitter, but free, he supposes.
What now though?
He wonders what to do, as he is close to no one but his mother and she has taken up residence in the Deserts. Mandan will not run back to her side and cower there like a broken-hearted fool. He had briefly considered the likes of a herd but does not want the responsibility of running one on his own, why bind himself again to another or others now that he’s free again with nothing to chain him to this land?
If only he could leave this land…
Well he could, but he’s been elsewhere and keeps coming back here and he thought it was because of her but she couldn’t remain in love with him despite his absences - her heart grew too cold and she found another to warm it, how charming. He feels the first seeds of hate burst like rotten fruit in his chest, and he knows he will never set foot in the Falls again - never, not even to see his firstborn daughter who looks too much like her mother for him to stomach being around her. He thinks he is more likely to sequester himself in the cold reaches of the Tundra, it seems rather appropriate - she might have taken his heart, but she didn’t take the best of him, he supposes, not sure what else was really left but he’ll figure it out. More’s the pity for her that she simply didn’t have it in her to love him longer.
He knows he is as much to blame as she is but she chose her queenship and the king over him in the end, and he will never forget that - that he came second or last or not at all in her heart and mind. Bitterness and blame are two hefty cupfuls that he drinks from, as he steps into the field, not really sure why it is here of all places that he has come if he was so keen upon the Tundra but maybe he’s not. Maybe he’ll retire to a place (like the beach) where only the sun will talk to an addax-horned horse skull; but no, Mandan is not the type to wither away just because love is lost - become embittered and hard and less likely to love again, sure, but die? No, that he just won’t do - he won’t pine away ever again, no matter how prone to wandering and disappearing he is, but then… she knew that and thought she could change that in him. Some things just can’t be changed, and here he is - large, bay, and hard-eyed - standing in the midst of the field, troubled inwardly by the fact that he came here of all places.
A broken heart wasn’t something the gray male had experience with – in fact, it was the total opposite, as his heart was tucked away safely in the care of the most beautiful girl in whole Beqanna. So that wasn’t something he understood or could ever understand, but the bitterness he knows. Brynmor had felt that way when the Chamber had kicked him out, after keeping him like a pet in a corner of their kingdom for years. That was all he had been, a pet, a plaything, a puppet.
Gryffen, his puppeteer, had ruled his life, had left him and only studied him from afar, to see how crazy he would become. The solitude had driven him nuts, he supposed, but except for the anger and hatred he felt towards the Chamber – like Mandan to the Falls – he had left it all behind him. The caves had changed him and although his loyalty and love for the Tundra hadn’t changed, he had found something in the caves that made him who he was now.
The Tundra had done that for him. First she had accepted him, a blind and almost useless boy, and now she accepted him as a warrior and diplomat, a brother. There was no way that Brynmor would ever turn his back on his home, because it was the only home who had been willing to accept him as his former one had kicked him out. His past wasn’t great, in fact, he had spied on his current home as his puppeteer had pulled his strings, but in the end his ties to the Tundra had only become stronger. It was home, the home his lover would wait for him, the home he would fight for, the home he would die for.
And that home needed more brothers. Ever since Offspring had taken the throne their numbers had been rising. More and more seemed to come to the Tundra, allured by the change of power and the new leadership. Brynmor loved to see the brotherhood growing, glad to see his home become more steady and powerful, like she deserved to be. But they still weren’t with many. And that is what brought him to another visit to the field today.
Lately the field had been swarmed by females and although Brynmor didn’t mind their company and presence – in fact, he even enjoyed that – so it is a nice change to find a male among them. Sure there were also more stallions around, but those were already bound to a home, and were recruiting just like him. But this horned male is different. With a steady but calm pace the gray male approaches the stranger, studying him carefully, before he dips his head in a greeting. ”Good day” he greets, his voice neutral but not unkind. ”My name is Brynmor, from the Tundra. Since I you find yourself in the field, I assume you’re looking for a place to call home?” He is direct as ever, jumping right to the subject, instead of having a chitchat about pointless things first. Some appreciated it, others hated it, and Brynmor studied the taller horned male to see his reaction to this.
"Nothing is coming to rise."
OOC: Not sure if you'd be interested in another Tundra pony, but I couldn't let the chance to finally talk to a male in the field pass by xD.
