The snow is already melting as he makes his way to the Field. Spring, as adulthood for the traveling almost-three year-old, is fast approaching.
He doesn’t feel so old, not really. He feels just as curious as he had in childhood, anxious to learn everything he can about the world around him. He’s just as quiet, too, able to live in his own head and let the world reveal itself, rather than him actively forcing it to. But his body suggests otherwise. Ramiel has grown into his once floppy ears. He has filled out, transforming from a lanky colt into a well-muscled stallion thanks running along rugged Dalean forest trails. There is still a youthful quality about his face, however. A softness in his eyes still speaks volumes of the naivety that lingers within him. He clings to hope, a vestigial feature perhaps. Despite all that he has already been through (despite seeing the end of the world, despite seeing his sister smashed into a million pieces and put back together missing some) he wears it openly, still.
Others cast aside their hopes.
He can see it in some of their dimmed eyes; eyes that were probably once sparkling with vitality and assurance are now sucked dry of their light. It happens a lot in the fringe places like the Meadow and Field. Even now, walking amongst the homeless, it’s all too apparent that age and passing years can change others for the worst. Maybe they had had a purpose before – maybe they had loved and lost, and that loss was simply too much for them to bear – but for many, it is clear that their calling is long behind them. They haunt the winter-dead field, some gaunt and staring. Ramiel knows a thing or two about haunting, and today, he doesn’t seek out these living ghosts – these relics of the past. Now, as the years give him strength and life, he seeks only those who embrace the changes.
One such man stands out because he doesn’t. He hugs the shadows of the tree line, maybe trying to hide himself from recruiters such as the one he has attracted. Ramiel can see the difference in his eyes, though. Though hooded, they flicker with want. The almost-adult doesn’t know what the man wants, exactly, but it’s enough that he does. He moves in closer just as a strangely colored mare does the same. She reaches the line of trees first, but Ramiel is quick on her heels. He hears her introduction and place of residence before adding his own combination to the mix. “I’m Ramiel, from the Dale.” His golden eyes turn from Engelsfors to the shadow-loving man. He seems to strain his sight even in the dark place he has found for himself, and the boy wonders if he is somewhat blind. “Shadows can both reveal a presence in the light or make one invisible in the dark.” Funny thing, shadows are, with the power to reveal and conceal in equal measure. He smiles easily and asks, “what is your name?”
r a m i e l
what a day to begin again