• Logout
  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    [open]  Everything Is Absolutely Lovely
    #1







    and troy came tumbling down




    Beauty. Beauty to burn the brains out. This was the first impression that hit Andromache at the sight of the field before her. Summer burned like a secret on her skin, bleached her coat into a ruddy red. From where she stood she could see that she was not the only one to look like herself. Or more, she looked like the rest of them. From a distance, one saw not her past; one saw simply a red-bay mare, with a body that told of survival. A number of scars marred her withers from many battles past, and through them sang black skin; a choir. I have fought. I have survived. I did not fly too close to the sun.

    She had run far, and for the first time in a long time, Andromache felt like her journey was enough for her to rest. They were no longer in Hellas, no longer in that place of memories. Here she could be whoever she wanted to be. 

    Andromache, she reminded herself. Your name is Andromache. In the before times, she'd used that as a mantra every time she'd woken up. Others had said it, yes, but every time she said it it was an act of possession. I am Andromache. Not you. 

    Despite her relief, the mare known as Andromache was tired. Her muscles quivered, pushed to exhaustion, and her body screamed with thirst. It was a good thing, though, a constant companion through these empty lands in which she knew no one. Miles and miles she had run, had kicked the world away from her, but the hunger was always there. Even when she ate, filled herself to bursting, a subtle hunger loved her while she tried not to pay attention. 

    But for now she truly was hungry, and she made her way down to the field and lowered her head. She cared not whether anyone talked to her, a lone mare who would pass for anyone else at all. 


    andromache









    Photo by Євгеній Симоненко from Pexels

    Reply
    #2
    Ever since accidentally running away, Oren has tried his best to be a good boy and stick around for Mama and Rosey. But with Reave eating up more and more of his mother’s attention, and Oren’s legs growing not only longer but also a bit thicker this summer, he catches himself off-guard more often. Taiga is a fun place to run around in and no doubt the best place to play tag with his sister and his younger brother, but even the prospect of Papa visiting in the evenings can’t fully keep him grounded. And perhaps it shouldn’t and this is what comes from ageing: he can only guess because even his mother can’t always have the answers to his questions any longer. Unsatiated, today the gold-marked roan makes his way towards the common lands.

    The field stretches out in front of him like and endless sea and for a moment he wonders to himself what would happen if horses were indeed fish in a sea of green; would the world under and above the sea’s surface look pretty much the same? What if the air were breathable water, would that mean everyone could fly?

    Oh, he shakes his head - he shouldn’t be speculating when in the face of strangers, zoning out like that. Already he sees the figure of a mare nearby and can only hope she didn’t see him staring into the distance like that. A closer look reveals scars, from a distance he has been told other horses don’t make out such detail yet (but having been born with it, he has a hard time imagining how little another might see). She is grazing and doesn’t seem to mind him, so he wanders over, trots a bit then stops to greet her.

    ”Hello,” he greets her. There is a barely bit back kind of curiosity in his tone, and he tries not to ask a question; once started, he might not be able to stop the flow. ”I’m Oren,” the year-and-a-half year old colt states. He knows he sounds a bit strained but he really really shouldn’t. Should he? Maybe she wouldn’t mind if he asked...
    Oren
    I'll follow you when the stars go blue


    @[Andromake]
    Reply
    #3
    @Oren






    and troy came tumbling down






    Andromake rests her head in the grass, eats at the sprouts of green that burst through the earth like shoots of memories. Here, she is like any other horse in her unremarkable form. At the back of her head she knows that at some point she will have to move on from this place; from this halcyon. Unluckily or not, her life did not end with her kin. It is her responsibility to carry on their blood now, to represent them.

    A bird shoots through the sky above her and she raises her gaze. This far down, she cannot tell what type it is. Perhaps it is a heron, or a hawk. Maybe it will fly all the way home, to its chicks and its partner. It will gorge itself on good flesh and they will continue. Yes, go home. Andromake's ear twitches backwards as she considers its journey. It goes back in the direction that she has come. Some of the horses that she has seen have wings, and there are times that she feels jealousy. Although she is free, part of her knows that she will never taste true freedom as long as her hooves are still braced on the ground.

    A movement snaps in her periphery and she shifts her face in their direction. Before her stands a yearling colt, a roan. He looks a little frazzled, a bit distracted. For a moment her stomach twists as she thinks of another from a long time ago. She remembers another colt, another time. She pushes it away and smiles at the young horse before her. "Hello, young man," she replies, her voice soft and calm. "I'm Andromake. Is anything the matter?" He holds himself nervously, and the maternal side of her urges her to protect him. 



    andromake






    Image by Bailey Zindel

    Reply
    #4
    For a moment that stretches into infinity, Oren studies the mare and the mare studies him in return. Her coloring is normal, he thinks, but her stance, her eyes and her scars, interest him all the same. She will have stories to tell, he would bet, even though they might not be the most fun ones, still, he believes that there is something there at any rate.

    She studies him, too, and he finds it kinda funny - not many people watch so closely, and in a way it reminds him of Mama. Never mind that though, he has started a conversation and it would be strange not to respond to her question. He lights up a little, then shakes his head. ”Not really. I was just curious...” he trails, takes a breath and then the dam bursts. ”Are you new in Beqanna? Where from? Where are those scars from?” he tilts his head, plainly asking for these things out of pure curiosity. ”Are you gonna live here now? Do you have a home yet?” his stream of questions continues and then he shuts himself up, biting his lower lip in the same way as before.

    Before he makes it worse, he should give her the chance to answer at least a few of those. At least that’s what Mama always says, though she often laughs about it when he lets go like that. He knows it’s impolite though - Rosey says so, anyway.
    Oren
    I'll follow you when the stars go blue


    @[Andromake]
    Reply
    #5
    @[Oren] 


    Andromake smiles at the colt, turns her body towards him. He is impolite and blunt, but charming. He reminds her of her own son, blissfully quizzical, nearly a yearling...

    Besides, she remembers her own childhood and the warriors in her herd. Her mother told her that every scar was a beacon of respect. As a foal she had watched the horses wander, the mares and stallions in their healed glory. She remembers the elderly especially, her uncles and their stories of heroism and conquest. 

    He explodes in questions and curiosity, a firecracker of the undiscovered. She lets time spread from his question, but she doesn't scold him. He should keep that curiosity for as long as he can manage. 
    "Beqanna, do you say? I suppose I must be, as I didn't know the name of this place." She flicks her tail gently, patiently. "I come from a land called Troy. And I'm afraid you are too young for those stories."

    He tilts her head and she nearly melts. "I don't know where I'm going to live. I go wherever I get the urge. So if I feel the urge to stay, and I'll leave if I get the desire to go. It all depends." She tips her ears towards him. "And you? What is a strapping young lad like yourself doing talking to old dames like me? I imagine you certainly have a herd of fillies waiting for you." She nearly chuckles.


    Ooc: I'm on the bus rn so no fancy tables or we from me

    Reply
    #6
    It feels like forever until she answers. In that stretched moment of silence he knows perfectly well that it was wrong to ask so many questions at once, and personal ones at that, but he also knows he couldn’t have stopped himself if he had truly wanted to. He expects a look, but none follows; he expects to be turned down, but she stays anyway. He expects a stern word but all she does is deny him one answer and give him many, and during her speech he releases a long breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

    Troy is a name that doesn’t ring a bell with the gold-marked roan colt either, but no matter how much he wants to ask more about what it is like, the mare tells him he’s not old enough for those stories (hopefully she just meant the scars, he thinks). A form of politeness has awakened in him though, so he decides he could inform her about some things first. ”Yeah, Beqanna is what they call this. All the lands together I mean. We’re in the Field now, and I live in Taiga with my mom and sis and my brothers. Most of them anyway. Nash lives with my Da on the frozen island.” He grins a bit, boyishly, until he remembers she wouldn’t know anything yet, just like he didn’t know anything yet when she mentioned Troy. ”Taiga is a redwood forest. A bit chilly sometimes because of the sea mist, but a perfect place for hide and seek. And for foraging too. You can come visit if you want.” he offers in one breath, knowing that that is what Mama would have done. Besides, he would like an excuse to talk to her again and -again- ask her about the Troy and the scars.

    She asks a question that he is pretty certain that he might actually be too young for - or just too bewildered by the rest of the world. He sticks out a tongue. A herd? Full of girls? Why would he want that? ”I’d rather travel and learn of Beqanna’s history and all the magic,” he admits to the older lady - something he has once or twice admitted to his mom, too, but otherwise not yet acted upon. Lilliana had said that she would like to reinvent the ranks, but also that he didn’t need to have one at his age just yet. That duality had made him hesitant to pick anything at all, though he also trusts his mother to come up with whatever she thought fitting. After all, she hadn’t disappointed so far, and it was clear to him that, aside from the wanderlust, he did take after her more. Or, at least, so he thought based on what little he knew of his father - which was in fact far less than he’d like to admit. The dragon king had always seemed a bit distraught to Oren, and the scaled man had more than once let on that he had lived and experienced more than he perhaps should have. Oren, hardly of age, hadn’t had much time to think that through yet. Perhaps some day he would understand a little more - for now, all he knew is that he knew too little of his father’s childhood to know if he was anything like him. But his mother and her stories, well - those he knew and understood very well.

    Except her tendency to call Taiga cold, of course. Neither Oren nor Rosey had ever had trouble with that.
    Oren
    I'll follow you when the stars go blue


    @[Andromake]
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)