"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
01-03-2020, 05:17 PM (This post was last modified: 01-10-2020, 07:02 PM by kahzie.)
finger trips across my cheek---------------- ----------------kiss me until i can't speak
Having just sent Adarra off to play in the woods, Pteron finds himself with an unexpectedly free afternoon. He knows that Reia had expected him to spend the time with their daughter, but the nearly-yearling girl is past the age when she wants her Da leaning over her shoulder while she plays. She’d made in clear – in nearly verbatim terms – that she was going to play with her friends and that he, Pteron, was not cool enough to hang out with them.
That he is too old for something had caused a brief bit of surprise, just enough that Adarra had time to give her father a peck on the cheek and dart off into the woods. Too old. A strange concept for the pegasus stallion; his own youth does not seem like it had been so very long ago.
A free afternoon is a rare treat; the winged tobiano has had few of them since the summer. It has taken time to adjust to his new position in the woodland territory, time that had had not expected. It grates him to know that Reia has made it easier, that her presence made his ascension – and his position – more sturdy. Who wants to contradict a dragon, after all? Especially one as powerful as his wife, as beautiful and elegant as she is heartless and cold? Not that she shows that to anyone else, of course. Pteron is the sole victim of her anger, the buffer between it and the rest of Beqanna.
So this afternoon, free of Reia, is better than most any other, and the blue-haired tobiano makes his way through the foggy redwoods with a lightness in his step that has been gone for some time. He is even smiling, and his ears prick forward curiously at the sound of hooves drawing nearer.
“Hello?” he calls out, his baritone voice curious. “Who’s there?” The constant Taigan mist dulls most of his senses, so he slows to a halt, allowing his blue ears to flick about, locating the other horse as his body turns to face them.
Her walk is effortless now, as she leaps over fallen redwoods and other fallen tree limbs like she had every other day since she has been here. There is just enough traffic in the kingdom of Taiga that she can notice small indifferent changes, but only if she takes her time analyzing. And despite how bored how our little yearling boasts to be as of late, she isn’t bored enough to track every small indifferent change in the worn animal trail to the heart of the kingdom.
She thinks of her mom, often. Brine; what could you be doing now? Did you run away back to the shadows of the field? Will our little golden child fumble across her mother’s carcass on a cold winter morning after a dreadful night storm? Or is Brine still nestled in the safety of Nerine, like Lilliana had promised. It is impossible to rid herself of the uneasiness that rides her mind waves like a seasoned expert.
As she continues on auto-pilot--in both her mind, and body--she doesn’t realize the stallion she has crept upon until he has already called out her intrudance. Tall and white and blue, a colour so flamboyant and loud that Ruthless gets lost in it’s vibrant teal-y hue.
“Sorry,” she stammers initially, reaching for her confidence and finding it just within reach. Her body readjusts, “I must have gotten distracted! I am Ruthless. I am new. I have only been here for a few months,” her voice is still intoxicatingly positive, with an underlying tone of excitement and interest no matter the topic or company.
finger trips across my cheek---------------- ----------------kiss me until i can't speak
Pteron knows that there are some Taigans who live in the deep woods, who keep to the shadows and out of conversation with anyone but their own kind. He sees them occasionally, most often from a distance, and so coming across a stranger who lives within his redwood home is not as disturbing as it might be in another land. But this girl is bright and cheerful and apologetic, rather unlike the Shades, who are as dark as the shadows of the thickest woods.
She’s new, the golden girl tells him; she’s only been here a few months.
Has he really been so distracted that someone new has come to the woods and he’s not come across them for months? The possibility is an uncomfortable one, but it is difficult to frown in the presence of such youthful enthusiasm, and Pteron finds himself smiling despite himself.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he tells her, “I just couldn’t see you through the mist.”
Now that he can see her, the dun stallion’s olive eyes flick curiously across her wings, categorizing her as young and healthy and already beginning to smell more of Taiga than anywhere else. A few months she’s been here, Ruthless had said, and though she is a child she’s older than that – so she wasn’t born here. Pteron knows that Izora Lethia is fond of bringing in foundlings, and wonders if perhaps that is how young Ruthless had come to live among the trees.
“I’m Pteron,” the stallion adds, and then asks: “And how have you liked living here so far?”
if you do not have shadows, you are not in the light
He reassures her that there is no need to apologize, and after a brief second of feeling overwhelmingly bad, she relaxes. An exhale first, and then her heart rate recovers and her breath becomes less shallow. Everyone is so nice here.
“The mist is much thicker here, than in the field…” she agrees, looking off into the distance watching mist crowd around the redwoods and their obnoxious trunks. While she can hardly remember the field, she also cannot remember a mist this thick. It’s more of a rarity in the field with the dry air, but here with the ocean so close and the moisture so abundant… Well, it’s a lot.
It takes time for her to think about the right answer: how does she like Taiga? It’s nice. It’s big and there are a lot of strange horses and her mother isn’t one of them, but yes… Nice. Everything about the Taiga is actually great, except that her mother isn’t there.
“I like it. I have made a friend, which is good.” She nods, still thinking as she continues, “Kalil is nice. And now you, I guess. You are nice. It feels good to just live, especially when in the field we--I spent so long surviving,” Ruth feels awkward speaking for her mother, she isn’t sure her mother is done surviving yet.
“Pteron,” she mimics slowly, adjusting to the new name sounding more distinguished and mature, “you must have lived here awhile now. Why have you stayed?”
finger trips across my cheek---------------- ----------------kiss me until i can't speak
Pteron remains still, letting the girl calm herself while he peers out into the nearly-solid mist around them. It is no wonder they starteld each other, and he nods at her observation that the fog here is thicker than the Field.
“It’s constant, too” Pteron tells her. “It’ll sometimes burn off on warm enough summer days, and it’s a little less in the winter, but I’ve yet to see a day without fog at all.” Falling quiet, Pteorn listens to Ruthless’ answer. She’s found a friend, the girl says, and the stallion recognizes the name of Aten and Izora Lethia’s youngest child.
Why has he stayed, the girl asks, and for a moment Pteron is quiet. It’s a question he has asked himself a thousand times as he watches his wounds slowly knit themselves back together. He’d once told Aquaria that it was duty, and part of that is true. The responsibility is a weight he had not expected. Pteron was a good soldier – he follows orders, thinks on his feet but mostly does what he’s told. But to be the one making the plans? To give the orders?
He dislikes ruling far more than he’d anticipated. That Reia so loves it rankles him all the more; his beautiful wife is a creature born to command. Pteron is not, and yet still he stays.
“Because my daughter is not yet old enough to inherit the Taiga,” he finally answers. It’s not the truth, of course, but it sounds truthful. It is a heavy admission as well, and the smile that has previously brightened his expression has dimmed considerably. Just before it slips away entirely, Pteron thinks of happiness and speaks again.
if you do not have shadows, you are not in the light
His exhaustion is familiar, the same lines of stress and worry form on her mother. They cling the life and adventure from their eyes with savagery, stealing the happiness right out from under them. Even his voice is the drowned suffocation of practice and duty.
“You’re… Ruler?” She exhales in embarrassment, and then judgment. Should she have kneeled, bowed, something? Does he want to be called majesty, or king? Her mind furiously spirals before reminding her that he did introduce him as Pteron.
So, maybe he isn’t the type. Or, maybe the title is the problem. Maybe the title drains him barren like the slow drip of a bottle, until all that is left is the slow, occasional slip of optimism.
“I am sorry I didn’t introduce myself sooner… I am not—um—familiar with the dynamics of Taiga yet,” In all honesty, she had been so caught up in her mother she hadn’t really met anyone aside from Aten and Kalil.
He asks her of her favourite place, and Ruthless thinks long and hard. The mysterious shadows cast by oversized Redwoods, the salt-water sensation tickling at her sides as she wafts belly deep amongst the waves, but nothing will ever replace the special spot Kalil had showed her.
“There is a small clearing on the beach, a path carved with sand and wet rocks and barely wide enough to fit one explorer. And at the end of the sand path—when the tide has withdrawn—is a small pool where you can see a glittery, reflective surface layer. It’s like staring at a million stars all at once,” her eyes imagine the sharp gold and aquamarine mash glinting beneath the movement of the water.
“Do you take your daughter to your favourite place?” She asks, wondering what it must be like to have two devoted parents.
The abundance of love; is it suffocating? Or the kind of pressure that lulls you to sleep?
finger trips across my cheek---------------- ----------------kiss me until i can't speak
Her confusion over her position elicits a wry smile, and he nods his head before shaking away her second apology of their interaction. “It takes a while to learn a new place,” he tells her, “and I should have been the one to seek you out.” He would have, he thinks, if he had known she was here at all. The territory is large enough that he does nto know everyone, but if they are involved in the active life of the land it is the least he could do to introduce himself. And yet he hadn’t, and is reminded once more of the myriad of ways in which he manages to fail as a leader.
‘Do you take your daughter to your favorite place?’ Ruthless asks, and Pteron is shaking his head even before he answers: “No.”
While honesty is not uncharacteristic for the piebald stallion, openness certainly is, and especially openess about this particular topic. The roan had meant his favorite place in Taiga, he is sure, but Pteron’s favorite place is not in the redwood forest at all. The trees are too close here for a winged creature to truly feel at ease, and though the shores and meadows have their appeal, the olive-eyes stallion has never felt drawn in by any particular location. His favorites are people, not places, and Taiga has been perfect only twice in his memory – the visits of his amethyst-eyed lovers.
That is not the sort of thing he shares with near-strangers though, even near-strangers. Instead, he takes a long breath, another projection to himself, and gives the black-winged girl a quiet smile. “That sounds like a beautiful place though. I do not think I’ve ever seen it.”
if you do not have shadows, you are not in the light
She sees his mind churn with every sentence she speaks, carefully calculating every response as if grenades were laid out before him. Curiosity lingers but she knows better than to pry, he doesn’t seem like the type to tolerate it.
“Sometimes things matter more than your role,” if she could ignore the disappointment in his tone, she would. But it hit her like harder than a rock plunging down a cliff into an unknown end.
There he goes, lost again. She wonders what he thinks about. Sometimes Ruthless thinks of what her mother is doing, how how she is doing. Sometimes she wonders if Kalil is thinking of her.
How is Lilliana fairing? Has Eurwen recruited recently?
Other times she thinks of the ocean, and the caressing waves. Or the giant trunks that casted large dark shadows that she just knew her mother would like. The way the twinkling sparkle of sand glistened in the last moments of light as orange and red hues disappeared behind the never-ending sea.
Mother would like him. He is calm, and kind. He would make her feel safe.
He is doing his job pretty well, from her perspective.
“It is quite nice. My mother raised me in the fields and forest before, nothing there really compares to here. It’s quite lonely, despite the traffic…” her warm voice softens and disappears, swallowed by the air between them as her eyes drift off—waiting for minutes to pass until the sun set so they could slink from the shadows to eat and drink, silent and listening for movement or danger.
finger trips across my cheek---------------- ----------------kiss me until i can't speak
Pteron had not denied the girl’s assumption that he was the ruler of the Taiga, but he hadn’t wanted to bring much attention to it either. There cannot be rumors that the forest is leaderless, not in time like these. He guards the redwoods for his daughter and for his sworn loyalty, but the latter is infinitely stronger. Pteron’s priorities are clear, even if there is very little that he can do about them now.
Some things matter more than your role, Ruthless tells him, and Pteron cannot help but to smile at her naivety.
He is grateful when the golden pegasus elaborates. Grateful at first, she soon drifts away, both in word and attention. Pteron, not having expected company this evening, is content to let her do so, finding that nursing his own worries passes the time – even if not productively. The idea of a life in the forest and the field, impermanent and uncertain, sounds miserable at best. That is not the life he wants for Adarra. He will take her somewhere that they will stay forever. The trouble is that he simply does not know where that might be.
“I grew up in the Brilliant Pampas,” he finds himself telling her. “It is a beautiful place, full of tall grass and endless flowers, which beaches far better for year-round swimming than the shores here.”
