"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 warm air is thick around him, nearly as tepid as the water in the shallow stream he lowers his head to drink. Sweat streaks Ravin’s sides, darkening the dappled grey hair and dripping beneath the colored feathers of his face, neck, and chest. Though autumn has turned the leaves of the trees overhead, it has done nothing to assuage the heat. He holds his feathered wings slightly away from his body as though the air might cool them, as if the flicking of his long tail does not create the only wind.
Swallowing one last drink, Ravin raises his sky blue eyes to the broad plain around him.
Shimmering hills of golden grasses stretch out toward the far-distant sea, bordered to the north by rising mountains and to the south by eerie places he’d rather not dwell on. It had taken him so little time to fly here that the day is still only half over, the speed of travel being one of Ravin’s favorite things about finally figuring out how to fly. The distances between himself and the horizon feel somehow smaller; the world becoming more accessible. That, in part, is why he has come today.
He knows the world is larger than the Gates and the Common Lands, and yet he has seen so little of it. Perhaps here, in this place where newcomers find homes and those in need of recruits sought them out, he might find someone willing to show him their part of the world. He’d even settle for someone willing to explore it with him, he thinks, turning toward the sound of what he thinks might be hoofsteps.
Her eyes flick open suddenly; the brightness makes her blink rapidly. Her ears ring. Her skin prickles. She inhales sharply, she doesn't recognize anything she smells. Actually, she doesn't recognize anything at all.
Her muscles twitch and bunch as she tries to gather her legs beneath her and stand. She stumbles in the tall grass. Her bright green legs buckling and wobbling as she tries to grasp her bearings on the world. As she finally gets her footing, her black and green tail swishing side to side. She lets out a snort of frustration and confusion as her mind whirs and grasps for any recognition. Where is she? She remembers nothing. A name? Like a soft whisper in her mind 'Razaranje'. Was that her name? Where did she come from? Where is she?
Her dark eyes scan the land in front of her. Brightly colored leaves dance in the warm breeze. She thinks she hears the noise of water nearby. Mountains jut into the sky in the distance. She shakes her head, black and green flailing about her neck and face, trying to clear her thoughts. The ringing in her ears begins to subside as the tingling along her green hide begins to fade, allowing her to feel the air shifting around her. She catches a scent and her nostrils flare as she tries to distinguish what it is. Slowly her black eyes land on a figure standing in the plains further off. She scans what she can see of him, her brain recognizing him as a horse, but also not quite.
Suddenly her legs move beneath her and she starts towards him. As she nears, she notes that he is a bit taller than her. His wings are lifted slightly. He seems youthful. Perhaps around her age? She isn't sure. She squints as he turns towards her and stops in her tracks. He has feathers, not just wings? Her mind begins to dig for anything. Any recognition of this place, or who she is, where she came from, or who he may be, but nothing comes to her. She glances around again, before returning her gaze to him and trying to muster sound from her throat.
"Hello." She squeaks out, eyes widen as she is startled by the sound she forced from her throat. She notices a stream near him and begins moving more quickly this time, rushing past him on unsure legs, before dunking her face into the water for a moment. The cool shock lit up her senses. She pulled her head from the water quickly, drops flying up and out from the black and green framing Razaranje's face. She inhaled sharply and turned back around to face the male, eyes darting over him.
His roving eyes settle on a green horse, spotting her just as she comes to a stop. Had she been coming toward him, Ravin wonders?
The grey watches her with hardly a blink, as intent as a jay. Everyone outside his home is a stranger - he has never met anyone twice beyond those that dwell within the borders of the Gates. She looks in one direction and then another, confusion clear on her emerald face. Ravin tilts his head, but a bemused smile starts to tug at the corner of his mouth.
Having met a Queen, a pair of eerie siblings, and what he is still quite sure was a ghost, at last this seems like an encounter that might not utterly terrify him. She says hello, and he’s about to say it back when she rushes toward him. No, past him, but he doesn’t realize that before he hops a bit backward in surprise, the movement aided by his already flared wings.
Perhaps she missed it while dunking her head, Ravin reasons, calming his racing heart, and shaking out his feathered wings and shoulders before tucking them in as she lifts her head from the water.
“The Meadow.” he replies, “This part of it used to be called the Field though, I think.” The Field had been somewhere nearby, he is sure, though whether or not it includes this particular stretch of grass and stream he’s less confident of. “In Beqanna. You know Beqanna?”
She’s looking him over, and perhaps he articulates a little more clearly than he usually might, ensuring she sees the sharp teeth that line his mouth. The teeth had come from the kelpies on his mother’s side, the ghost had told him, knowledge that had greatly reassured his Stratosian sire. His once golden coat has turned a dappled grey as he matures, accented by the colorful feathers, the bright eyes, and the wings of his Stratosian heritage. “I’m Ravin, by the way.”
The shock from the cool water is still settling as she listens to his reply. The Meadow. The Field. Nothing rings a bell. She nods slightly before shaking her head again, sending a few more water droplets spraying about. Beqanna. The name sounds familiar. She closes her dark eyes, trying to bring anything out of the foggy depths of her mind. She remembers the name Beqanna. Dale? Valley? Something along those lines... A place as dark, foggy, and empty as her memories seem to be.
She opens her eyes and sighs. Sounds familiar. Beqanna, I mean. The Meadow and Field didn't ring a single bell. She looks around again, inhaling deeply before focusing back on the gray, feathery horse in front of her.
He speaks again, and this time she notices the teeth in his mouth, and flinches. She tried not to stare too long, flicking her focus to his feathers, and then his wings, and then back to his face. She realizes, again, that she was staring at his mouth where the rather unpleasant looking teeth sat, and quickly resettles her gaze on his eyes instead. She unintentionally gave a slight tilt of her head as she studied them. They were an interesting color, reminding her of the sky. Ravin.
I'm, uh, Razaranje. She says, deciding that the soft word bouncing around in her little green head must have been her name.
Razaranje shifted her weight a little, studying the feathers framing his face. Then to his neck, his chest, his back. And his wings. They were really beautiful. Interesting. She admired them, not even giving a thought to how uncomfortable it may make him feel. She can't remember where or who she has come from, but she remembers seeing wings on a horse once. Crooked, gray, tattered and useless wings. Nothing like the ones in front of her.
Suddenly, she realizes she is staring at this stranger. This stranger who has sharp teeth and who knows what talents hiding beneath his stunning feathers and skin. Oh. I'm sorry. I'm not sure what's going on with me. She gave a curt laugh, flicking her black and green tail across her haunches. It's nice to meet you. I like your feathers. And your teeth. She grimaces as soon as the words stop, sighing and closing her black eyes again before gathering herself. I'm sorry. I can't seem to remember anything, including any manners. Maybe I hit my head?
Though he knows it’s probably not going to help, Ravin’s grin widens at her odd reaction to his wonderful sharp teeth. She’s not the first to flinch away, and he finds that his delight at frightening his friends and family extends to strangers as well.
He only likes the initial surprise though, not the fear, and in the time it takes her to look over his dapple grey hide, wings, and colorful feathers, his teeth are once again covered by still-smiling lips. The unexpected pair of compliments that has him briefly struggling to keep them so, and he doesn’t even try as he replies.
”Could’ve been a lightning bolt, there was a pretty bad storm last night.” He suggests with a grin. “I won’t hold it against you though; it’s not like you ran off screaming. And company is in short enough supply that I can’t be too picky.” There remains a light of humor in his eyes.
Her lack of memory, far more than her manners, tell him that she is unlikely to be exactly who’d he’d been looking for. Someone who had come from somewhere else, who had seen more than the Gates and the Common Grounds, who might have adventures up their sleeve. But he had been honest earlier, that he takes to most anyone.
“Whats the last good thing you remember?” He asks, having learned from the last time he’d asked a similar question that the ‘last thing’ might be unspeakable horrors.
A storm. She smiles and nods, not remembering a storm but deciding it was a good enough excuse. Yeah, I suppose maybe I was struck by lightning. She snorted softly at the thought. Maybe I have magical powers now. She winked and laughed then, unaware of the youth restoration she does possess. The Beqanna she was born into had magic, her father was magic, but the magical world she was born into was nothing like the magic around now.
She's glad for the welcoming hospitality of this stranger, in this strange land. She started to feel more at ease, letting her body relax a bit and shaking off the remaining tension. Well I'm glad I can be a source of entertainment, she smiled at him, her darks eyes lightening thanks for not running away or biting my head off.
The last good thing she remembers. She closed her dark eyes, forcing herself deep into anything her mind could conjure up. I don't know. I think I was born somewhere called the Valley? Razaranje opened her eyes and laughed, I can't remember anything specific, but I think my mom was crazy. She laughed again I think everyone was crazy.
She shook her head, black mane flopping around her green neck and face. Her dark eyes scanned his face, I guess I'll have to create some new memories. She sighed then, tilting her head slightly What's your favorite memory?
Ravin, whose family wears lightning on their skin, has no doubt that a bolt of it might carry magic alongside with the ability to wipe away time and place and memory. The world is full of magic after all, and not even a Moonspeaker can divine where it all comes from - or where it goes.
She thanks him for not running off or biting, which elicits another toothsome smile and a polite incline of his head as if to say: ‘Don’t even mention it.’
At the answer to his question, Ravin’s feathered ears flick forward as he watches her close her eyes, searching for memories. She doesn’t find much, it turns out, only the name of a place that he’s heard of in stories and the fact that everyone was crazy.
Not a world he knows, then, and Ravin’s feathered shoulders lift in a shrug as he offers: “The world is definitely less crazy now.” ‘Boring even’, he almost adds, but that’s probably not the best thing to tell someone without memories. So he does not voice it aloud, but it remains on his mind as he considers his answer to her question of what his own favorite memory is.
“I don’t think I’ve made it yet.” He finally answers, “Not that my other memories haven’t all been pretty good so far, but…” The young stallion trails off, adjusting the protective feathers of his wings before continuing. “Learning to fly was probably the best so far. The world seems so much closer now, so much easier to explore…” He pulls his gaze from the horizon and back to Razaranje. She’d said she was from the Valley, he recalls, a place that no longer exists in this world. Will she want to go looking for it, he wonders, to find her crazy mother? Having finally found someone to talk to, he’s reluctant to share what might be emotional news.
“That’s what I came here for, actually. I was hoping to find someone that isn’t from the Gates. Is your Valley the same Valley where Topsail and Eight lived?”
"I suppose we always have the opportunity to make better memories than what we've already experienced." She nods and smiles, flying does sound like it would be a pretty wonderful experience. "I bet flying is a pretty great experience!" Her eyes held a bit of wonder as she thought about it. The air that high had to feel different, maybe lighter? "What is it like to be able to fly?" She hopes she isn't too intrusive, but Razaranje's current existence is quite bland. Being able to experience things vicariously through the explanation of others is about the best she can come up with.
At the mention of the Valley and Eight and Topsail, she frowns slightly. The names didn't conjure anything to the front of her mind as her conscious felt around the dark, dusty depths of her memory. She let out a sigh, "They don't sound familiar." Her black tail swished lazily side to side as she stared into the distance. She was trying to decide whether or not it was even worth seeking out anything or anyone who might be able to tell her what became of her once home and her family, whoever they were. Little did she know her mother was also wandering around Beqanna, dropping off a full sibling to her like yesterday's trash. "I wonder how long it's been..." She took a deep breath and pulled herself away from stewing over what once was.
With a smile she quipped, "Well, you're in luck! I am, in fact, not from the Gates." She chuckled, if she was from the Gates and couldn't remember that, she was sure he would have at least known as much. "What is the Gates? What's it like?"
Ravin
