"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
i need to be redeemed to the one i've sinned against
Banished.
Not that Harlowe had been any help as a Chamberling, in fact she spent ninety percent of her time in the form of a wolf; unsuspecting and hunting. She had met her father briefly in passing but the word was out anyone related to Lupei or Dacia was to be run out - Harlowe, though relatively timid to confrontation was the first to leave. The Chamber was best as a wolf but the other lands didn't have as much coverage for a traveling predator so for the first time since her mother had left her, she shifted back into a horse - bay, mint brindle stripes - yellow eyes like her ma, she preferred to not draw attention but these things were uncontrollable. She takes to the field, the only other place she could potentially find a home, for now she would keep her wolf-shifting and fire manipulation to herself because it may well indeed give her away.
She is merely three but her cautious nature had developed from being with a pack, she observed others - some quite boastful in their feather show, others to the point but our Harlowe stayed close to the field's edge - close enough to escape without being bombarded. She was a wild thing, she had no manners, she had no idea of anything spare safety, nourishment, and attacking if the pack was in danger. She quietly waits, knowing someone would eventually discover her if they were truly looking but she is in no hurry and she won't leave with just anyone.
He is done, done with lazing about, done with doing nothing, done with waiting around for someone to give him orders. He only has one life to live, and he feels no point in wasting another minute of it. If he dared to admit it, this new found resolve had something to do with the foals, and his age. At 12 years, he was starting to ebb out of his prime, though no one would notice it but himself, and the foals were growing rapidly. To fast, everything in his life was going by way to fast. At first he thought if he slowed down, took some time to just sit back and enjoy maybe time would slow down with it. Obviously that didn’t happen, if he wanted to not miss out on anymore, then taking action was his best bet.
He is traveling around to the different alliances, making a declaration of games, but what would it hurt to stop by here on the way and try to find a few more faces. Glancing over the grasses there appears to be several different clusters, each of which hold no such appeal for him. He may have some time, but not that much time. All the idle chit chat, and monotonous questions, as if they didn’t already know the answers. He could tolerate it from new horses, and young ones, that were fresh from their parent’s side. But attempts at playing nice to those that were already well aware of the kingdoms inner workings, was wearing thin to say it nicely. It’s not until he scans the edges, near the trees, does he spot her, alone and apparently happy to be so. This was another thing he didn’t understand; with horses this shy why did they bother to come out here at all? Then again everyone needs a home, and a safe haven. He grunts a sort of odd sigh, submitting to his gut.
Well within her vision range he begins to approach her, offering a nod of greeting. I’m Phaedrus, from the Dale, and Golden Plains, so polite, he snears the comment in his mind, chastising himself for the abrupt and almost rude introduction. Must say something like ‘pleasant day’, ‘how are you’, ‘what brings you here’, ‘hi’… but him… I’m Phaedrus. Really??? Could it get more obviously awkward then that? Besides what was up with his attitude? Normally laid back…
Oh yea, spring, winter was over, the cold nip in the air is gone. There was no need to buckle down and get restless anymore. He should have realized it, but of course his mind was to preoccupied elsewhere. In an attempt to make up his previous introduction he offers her a gentler conversation opener. Are you looking for a home? That’s just great, like smoothing things out ever went well for him.
Riva has been more than a little remiss in her duties as an Amazon.
Recruitment is perhaps the most important of these and she harbors the faintest little desire to make an impression upon her queen, whom has taken quite the interest in the bay tovero mare for some reason or other that Riva has yet to fathom. Frankly, she is not that interesting or crafted entirely well: she is too thin, too angular, all sharp and severe, and entirely way too bitter to allow anything but that bitterness to consume her. It is both her fuel and her fire, the impetus for her being, but now she has new purpose - to serve Lagertha’s wishes and that is to make the Jungle thrive like it always does. Hence the paint’s appearance here now, in the field of all places, and she finds it as irksome as ever.
She knows what banishment is like though, or rather, abandonment. They are sisters to one another, this casting out or leaving behind of things like foals, and rather carelessly, she thinks. It still rides her to this day, a demon on her back, scratching her skin until it gets soul-deep and twines itself like a vicious vine around her heart. Every thorn-prick of memory is a constant reminder that the Dale’s own had abandoned her and she will never forgive them for sitting on their high thrones so deeply enamored of their great love story that they forgot about one little family member. Their attempts at inclusion had been pathetic at best and she scorned them ever since, until Lagertha found her, already a mare shaped by her bitter passions and pursuits, and decided to put them to use for the Jungle’s own machinations. Now, she is driven by something other than that bitterness and it causes her to turn her eyes to this day’s crop of home-hungry horses.
Of immediate interest is the mint-brindled bay mare, and Riva could not say why (sister Banishment whispers to sister Abandonment of their similarities) but she is drawn to her for some reason. The paint mare sizes her up, likes the measure of her quiet wait and decides to approach her but is beaten to it by a familiar face - him, again! He was ever the bane of her existence, though she has long since deserted his herd and turned her full attention to the Jungle. It wasn’t like he ever seemed to care or sought her out either, she tells herself.
“Of course she is looking for a home,” she snaps as she joins them, efficient in her pace and her halt, squared up like a proper show pony if Riva had ever known what such a thing was. She throws him a sidelong glance then focuses her gaze upon the young mare and offers her a wry grin, “I’m Riva, also here to make an offer on the home front.” The tovero doesn’t stand too close to Phaedrus, but her stance suggests that she is familiar with him and finds him harmless, will he notice that she smells more like the Jungle now and less like his Plains? He probably couldn’t care less anyway, and she keeps her eyes on the mint-brindle; “I come from the Jungle by the way,” and she is entirely too blunt, since being tactful was never her strong suit - ever.
