"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
A storm had passed over in the late afternoon, and the trees around the small mare still drip down a steady trickle of water, even though the storm clouds themselves have moved east. Dusk is a pretty time in Sylva, but Djinni does not have eyes for the soft blues and purples of the land. Instead, she watches the sea.
There the sun burns red, reflected in the rippling saltwater below like a flame on the horizon.
Her dark eyes trace the line that separates sea from sky from south to north. Up there is Nerine, and she wonders if Nayl is watching the same sunset. Djinni has not seen the iron queen in nearly a year; she wonders how she is faring. The most recent news she has heard of her was her patronage of Hyaline, that little lake in the mountains. Courtesy dictates she visit her sister-kingdom, she supposes, and with a quiet sigh, Djinni vanishes from Sylva and appears at the edge of Hyaline.
Most of the valley that spreads below her is filled with shadow, but the rim of the green bowl is stilled streak with sunlight. It there that she remains, lingering in the no-man’s land before Hyaline begins.
The small mare is easy to spot even in the encroaching darkness. She is as pale as snow, her pristine coat almost seeming to absorb and project what little light there is. There are a handful of golden streaks in her mane and tail, which accentuate the three-tined pair of golden antlers that rest between her jeweled ears. Above each of her pitch-black hooves are golden anklets, accentuating her slim ankles and drawing attention to her equally slender build. That is the only true part of herself that she wears this evening, her small stature and naturally immaculate good looks.
There is a faintly amused smile on her pale lips as she turns expectant violet eyes on the horse that appears, the humor just enough to make her recognizable as a living creature and not a work of art – carved and gilted marble.
Beneath a large maple bound and draped with the purple tendrils of wisteria, Sakir, sentinel-like as always, took in what he could of the land. His weary eyes sweeping the darkening surface of the lake, and then up and up to scour the craggily ridge which was bathed almost gold as the skies above grew darker, the light pulled from the world. All seemed as it should… And yet… Sakir blinked.
She appeared from nowhere, simply there, where for a moment which surely spanned no more than a breath he was certain there had been nothing. She glowed much like the moon would soon, somewhere far above, elegantly refined as she remained watching and waiting at what his siblings had deemed the edge of their kingdom. But more importantly, she was no one he recognised. A strange face who merited a welcome which should be warm rather than brash. And so Sakir did not hesitate.
He lunged forward and took the most direct albeit difficult route up toward the stranger. Springing up the mountainous scrubland with a nimble precision enhanced no doubt by his youth. Up and up he went, closer and closer. There was an urgency in each bound, the wind twisting the strands of his growing dark mane, the cooler dusk air filling his lungs. Wildly he searched for that tell-tale metallic gleam of his sister, of which as of yet he had not sighted, though Iset knew Hyaline far deeper than he, and his dear twin was as crafty as she was aggressively bold. Higher he scrambled, he would get there first least Amet have another guest to pacify.
With a final surge, he clambered up upon a largish boulder and crested the ridgetop. And it was with triumphant eyes that Sakir met with those unexpected violet eyes of the stranger. “Hello,” he greeted, still breathless as he came close. She was both beautiful and odd, like the goddess who’d found him in the forest that night, pale and radiant. He cocked his head curiously at her, Iset momentarily forgotten, his once tired eyes no longer half closed and weary. “Welcome to Hyaline, the sanctuary” he said, partially awestruck and feeling as young as his age to be greeting such a wondrous guest by himself as he eyed the strange but pretty trinkets which strangled her hooves.
The boy that comes is younger than she expects and for a moment she searches the hillside behind him, wondering if a parent was following behind. It seems the colt is alone though, and Djinni focuses her purple eyed attention solely on him.
“Hello,” she replies with a friendly smile. “Thank you for the welcome.” Her voice is deceptively rough for such a small and elegant creature. It is not dry from disuse anymore; she simply sounds as though there is sand shifting – somewhere.
“I came to see your sanctuary,” she tells the colt, using the same words he had. Sanctuary from what, she wonders to herself, what dangers still lurk in Beqanna with Pangea swallowed by the sea? What use does Nayl have for a sanctuary when Sylva is already a protected realm?
“I’m Djinni,” she adds, “From Sylva. I suppose we’re sibling kingdoms, of a sort.” Though Djinni has done her best to teach her own son everything she could as soon as she could, she is not quite sure how others time the teaching of their children. Does this boy understand the significance of her visit? Or should she wait to find an adult – even better, a leader? Best to wait and see, she decides; she could learn much from his response to what she has already shared.
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
The faint hint of a snore can be heard drifting from beneath the sweeping purple wisteria, the one near the north eastern side of the lake. Amet leans his dragon-scaled frame against the sturdy tree trunk, his narrow golden head slung low to the ground as he naps. Diplomacy is a tiring thing, the young stallion has come to learn. And it is not always fun, his brain whispers as he startles awake. Amet lifts his head slowly, amber eyes reluctant to open, for fear that someone will notice he is conscious again and therefore ready to discuss politics again.
He doesn't mind it, really. Only when Iset makes it difficult. There's a certain amount of worry that eats at the dragon king's stomach each day, one that can only be subdued by Sakir's presence for so long. The twins have always been closer to each other than any other relationship Amet has witnessed, but Iset's rebellious streak is stubborn just like she is.
Amet sighs and shakes his golden head, tousled mane falling around his pricked ears quite neatly. After a moment's hesitation, a last second to appreciate his brief solitude, the Akhal-Teke steps from below the wisteria, its purple boughs parting around his sleek and gilded frame.The crystalline lake sits before him, rippling quietly in the ascending moon, a comforting reminder that he and his siblings are nowhere near the Dunes.
He shines in the silver moonlight when it's able to find its way through the colorful canopy, metallic scales complimenting his desert lines. The wind sighs quietly, bringing an unexpected scent to Amet. Less than surprised that there is another visitor to greet, the dragon king quickens his pace and moves towards the unfamiliar smell. He finds that he's excited to see who this newcomer is, but there's still a bit of dread that blossoms deep in his belly that the thought that Iset could beat him there. She is often in the peaks, after all.
It's not long before the sound of quiet conversation finds Amet's pricked ears. He nears swiftly, almost afraid to see if Iset has found Hyaline's visitor before he.
... from Sylva, he catches as he breaks through the trees. His amber eyes seek out Iset but find that it is Sakir who has greeted the pretty, lithe mare, and Amet smiles widely at his younger brother. He moves beside the metallic boy and his gaze finds Sylvan mare, who stands a bit shorter than he and his brother. Amet bows his head politely. "Nayl mentioned that we have a powerful sister-kingdom," he says with a smile, "I am Amet."
Moonlight catches Djinni's ankles just right and Amet's amber eyes are drawn to the golden strands that enclose them. "I like your jewelry," a quiet compliment for a stallion so new and unsure in his adulthood. "Would you like to see Hyaline?"
His smile easily reached his eyes when she spoke of seeing their home. How much was known of Hyaline throughout Beqanna he was unsure. He’d only heard of one or two places himself, when he’d found his brother unoccupied and had stolen those brief opportunities one on one to talk… about the lake, the craggy peaks of the mountains or Amet’s favourite tree. Pleasantries really, much of what should have been said still wasn’t. Sakir was good at avoiding the inevitable, but then again, trying to pry his brother away from his summer fling to dredge up their past, well, it seemed selfishly peace shattering. And of course, Iset needed to not be there, that would be too much.
“Oh Sylva,” he couldn’t recall if Amet had tossed that name at him before or not. Not that it mattered, siblings were bound in many ways. He knew an emissary from a sister kingdom was already welcome here. Perhaps Amet had been expecting her. “I’m Sakir, my siblings rule this place. If you like, I can take you to my brother.” It seemed odd that Djinni would choose to visit just before the fall of night. His brother’s days were already long, but perhaps there had been no choice in that. “Or perhaps you’d first like to rest?” He offered uncertainly in much the way one does when they’re trying to be hospitable yet aren’t learned enough to be sure of the right move.
It hardly mattered though. Rest it seemed, was a luxury for those who had no duty. His ear twitched towards the gentle thud of a new set of hooves, his brother moving purposefully to his side. He could read his brothers proudness in that easy smile. Sakir was glad for it, shifting so as to bump his brother affectionately with his side. For a moment, it was almost as if nothing had changed.
Amet knew what to do, how to handle things. Eagerly Sakir followed his brother’s lead. “It won’t look like much now, but if you stay for when the light retouches it, the lake sparkles like your… leg decorations.” Or jewellery, that’s what Amet had called it.
The allure of company draws Castile from the obscure shadows of the looming sunset. Painted in scarlet, he steps lightly up the hill upon hearing nearby voices. Mother had told him that he would remain here – she had her reasons – and to mingle among the others. Ideally, he would have stayed in Nerine to overlook mother and Isobel’s safety, but he was forcibly ushered out. “I can watch over your sister alone,” mother had snipped before pressing her lips to the boy’s poll. “Visit frequently, but it’s time you spread your wings,” and he bid her farewell after that, taking to the skies under the assumption that she meant it literally.
He often reflected on the Nerinian caves that he was born in, that father frequently inhabited. They were comfortable and unlike anything here in Hyaline, but he hasn’t complained. He found his preferred areas, migrating from one to the other as to avoid predictability (to an extent).
But he escapes the monotony of his solitude by clambering down the hill and across the meadow to join the group. His eyes – one silver, one gold – brighten upon seeing a familiar face. ”Hello, miss Djinni,” he offers as he takes a place just behind and to the side of Amet and Sakir – the latter he has not yet met – and grins boyishly. ”Are you just exploring? Where’s Ivar?” His head turns from one side to the other to search for his companion, but it’s futile. Unfortunately, the Sylvan Queen is alone.
Although his attention is steadfastly on Djinni, he does offer glances and nods to the other boys, but it most comfortable looking into the face of a figure from childhood.
The colt is a charming youth, even if he doesn’t mean to be. He is making a genuine effort, and Djinni appreciates that. Sakir offers her a rest, which she declines with a shake of her muzzle.
There is an adult with the boy after all, though it’s clear from their ages that this is an older brother rather than a father. Not really an adult after all, she realizes. She accepts the compliment on her jewelry with a smile, and tells him that Yes, “I’d love to see Hyaline”
The average age of the group sinks even farther as a familiar pied colt appears.
“Castille,” she says with an easy smile, “It’s good to see you.”
His inquiry into her possible exploration reminds her of something that Ivar would say. She’s hopeful that her son would be able to distinguish diplomacy from exploration, but she supposes that in situations such as this one, it’s nigh impossible to truly tell the difference.
“He’s at home,” The white mare tells him, “Or perhaps off exploring somewhere. You should go with him sometime; he’d like it, I’m sure.” It is good for Ivar to have friends, to form relationships that will keep him out of the water. She distracts herself from those thoughts by turning back to Amet, who she has assumed is one of the ruling siblings that Sakir had mentioned.
“So tell me Amet,” she begins, turning her violet gaze to the scaled young stallion. “Are all the residents of Hyaline so young? Or are you boys just staying awake to see the sun rise?”
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
Amet is excited to see Castile as the other boy's winged frame emerges from the dense trees. He hasn't yet had the time to get to know the son of Nayl, but he has made himself present and accessible within Hyaline thus far. The dragon-scaled king offers the tobiano a nod in greeting before he turns his amber eyes back to their visitor, who Amet is not surprised already knows Castile. The Nerinian Queen had told him that Sylva had been an established sub-kingdom of hers for quite some time, it is only natural that they would have mingled.
Amet wonders at the name Ivar for a moment, and then remembers that he had once met the boy, when he and Iset had first claimed Hyaline as their own. "I met Ivar once. He had been exploring at the bottom of the lake," the leather-armored stallion says with a grin, still intrigued by the boy's affinity for water.
Djinni pulls his attention from Castile and their conversation about Ivar with a question that he has come to expect with each new visitor to the crystalline lake. Amet gazes at Sakir for a moment, his eyes bright with pride. As he looks back to the Queen of Sylva, the young king gives a nod. "Six years old is the age limit, except for the Protectors, like Brennen," the Akhal-Teke stallion gives a toss of his head at the mention of the winged stallion from Nerine, "it's our plan to offer a sanctuary and training grounds for Beqanna's youth. My siblings and I have a special interest in providing a safe place that will also help teach skills that will come in handy when they wish to work their way up the ranks of the home they choose after leaving Hyaline."
It's quite the speech, but the young Amet has recited it enough that he has nearly memorized the wording, though the pride and enthusiasm he feels is genuine every time.
06-21-2017, 08:49 AM (This post was last modified: 06-21-2017, 08:50 AM by Sakir.)
Out of the side of his eye he caught the movement from another as they shed themselves from the shadows and moved towards them. He’d expected Iset, but it wasn’t… Where was Iset? It was almost too long since he’d set eyes on her, and that had him concerned. But it was a winged boy, younger than he, who made to join them. And it became clear soon enough he at least was no stranger. Castile.
Sakir sighed gently. Perhaps it was time to rise from the sulking and get to know those who lived here. He’d spent enough time skulking in his sorrows… but then he thought of Iset, and all that was done to her, and then some when Amet fled the sands like a scampering dune rat. And that heavy cloud grey with sadness could not evaporate.
He stifled the bitterness of those thoughts, throwing a sideways glance at his brother though his friendly features never once wavered from being amicable. Amet spoke well. And it was clear that the child who’d fled the dune, shaking free from the responsibility of his younger siblings when he ran was no more. Though Sakir did wonder, did Amet hope, that by founding this place, by giving those who’d come here the skills he and his siblings went without in the sands, that it would somehow rid himself of the guilt of what he had done? That it would lead to forgiveness? Well, that would remain to be seen.
“You are in good company then.” He said to Djinni, before turning away from the trio, his eyes scanning the darkening peaks of the eroded ridgetops for his twin. No sign of her. “My brother has done well here, though it’s only just begun.” And the gaze which fell on Amet could still be proud, devoid of disappointment and sadness though that wasn’t the truth at the core of him, deeper at his heart. “I’m sure we’ll meet again later,” to Djinni, “and you.” he nodded at Castile, moving purposefully past them, making for the higher ridges to search for his twin.
