An Undefined Soul; Any

[Nymeria]

Age had not withered her. It had not weakened her bones like it had her sister. It had not beaten her down, disfigured her body, nor called her to peace. Age had done nothing but push seasons past her and buried loved ones memories. Nymeria was no longer resentful. She had battled her demons and awoke triumphant. Now was the time to refresh. Now was the time to restart her life as if her previous one was inadequate and needed redoing. In reality her previous one had simply been too good, and this one would likely never measure up. But she had to try. When Nymeria was a young filly she had heard stories of Beqanna. Her father had whispered of sweet moments within its hills. She had always thought of it like a dream, seemingly perfect and yet obviously fake. She never believed that it actually existed, but luckily for her sheer hope was enough to bring her to the field. Her dull brown coat blended into the trees as she merged onto the field. Nothing about her was spectacular or unique. She was average looking. Her lips held themselves tightly together as she looked from one edge of the field to the next. Horses covered the grounds and conversations filled the air. Her ears tweaked, and she sighed. Her ruffled breath sat deep in her chest like a lump. Nerves began to float, and her jaw clenched. Nymeria wasn’t the type to approach strangers so she daringly hoped for a friendly face. nymeria

[Sunday]

	Above all things, Sunday was a friendly face. Where others simply used the title of "diplomat," Sunday dove into it like a second skin. Always courteous, despite those who wronged her. Really, she had no reason to be as kind as she was. Looking through her history one would only see pain and deceit and suffering. But when she returned to Beqanna she, instead, found love and acceptance. This is the route she chose, and this is where she is now. Unlike others she rather loves the field. The field is where she met Scorch and where her live changed for the better. She explores it quietly and carefully, ready for any sort of encounter. Her own field experience involved running headlong into the borders of Beqanna, hoping endlessly that she'd finally outrun the evil that plagued her. All was well, now, and Sunday is a smiling beacon that approaches the lone mare. "Hello there!" she greets. "I'm Sunday, what's your name?"
sunday

[Kreios]

kreios don't you tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash I am feeling bold today. Perhaps it was that I rose early, when the dunes were still pale blue instead of gold. Perhaps it is winter and the rains are on the horizon. Whatever the reason, my head is held high as I make my way through the Field, glancing curiously at those around me. The Amazon’s bright tattoos are what initially catch my eye about the pair, but I smile warmly at them both as I settle my spotted body beside them. “Hello,” I say, glancing first at Sunday, who has already given her name, and then at the mare beside her. She’ll be the one looking for a home, I know; I should focus on her. I split my attention though (perhaps the reason I will never make a good warrior despite my impressive bulk). They are both conversation partners, for today at least, and favoring one over the other seems pointless. Perhaps I might run into Sunday again even if this chestnut mare doesn’t choose what I have to offer. “I’m Kreios, from the Desert.” It’s odd to not offer anything else, but I have no herd yet, and so no land or title to give. Sunday has already asked the brown mare for her name so I settle my weight on my hind lges and wait for a reply.

[Librette]

As a child you would wait, and watch from far away. But you always knew you'd be the one to work while they all play. Age. What is it to Librette? What is growing older to a mare that has died and returned? To a mare who is now far older than she ever should be, whose mysterious heart simply refuses to stop beating? Whose reassembled corpse just never quite seems to fall to ruin again? Oh yes, she is far older than she should be, and far less wise. She has seen, and been, and done so many things over the span of her years that it routinely blows the mind of the many young horses she's had occasion to speak with since her most recent return. She is living history, really. And that alone must mean that her days are numbered. But today is not her last day. Tomorrow will not be either. And even when she is gone, even when she finally fades to dust, the Valley will endure beyond her. The Valley is, and always has been, her everything. It has been her lover, taking the place of many stallions who might have been keen on such a loyal mate. It has also been her child, the one thing that she nurtures with all of her might. And it absolutely has displaced her natural children, turning her into about the worst mother in the world. But this child of hers needs new blood, and she knows it. The Valley feeds on souls, not in the terribly dark way that is usually meant by that statement, but in an almost-benign way. It requires souls to run its machine, it requires warm bodies working together in order to achieve greatness. They had not taken her advice and conquered when their groundswell of strength was greatest, and so they were beginning to fall into silence. And silence is simply unacceptable. And so she finds herself here, at the fringes of the field. It's hard to say what catches her eye about the girl, but perhaps it's that she, too, is ordinary. Librette knows what it is to blend in; her ordinary nature has been her calling card for years. In a world where everyone else stands out, dull chestnut Librette is nothing remarkable. She is background, made to fade away. Well, mostly. Her ordinary body bears two very not-ordinary features. The first feature is her wings, red-tail hawk wings that are gold and red and beautiful, entirely out of place on such an otherwise ordinary mare. She tucks them by her side now as she skirts along the trees, heading toward the hesitant girl and her crowd of would-be recruiters. The second distinctive factor is the scar that slashes across her chest, impossibly white in the face of the rest of her. That's what happens when your heart is (literally) ripped apart and (literally) rebuilt after you've been dead for a few years, apparently. She is the second to arrive (well, unless we're counting the mare herself) and she pulls in just in time to hear the other two introduce themselves and ask the woman's name. Librette nods a gentle greeting, dipping her head in respect. When Kreios finishes speaking, she's quick to follow up. "And I'm Librette, from the Valley. Nice to meet you." Don't weep for me LIBRETTE Because this will be the labor of my love. Image copyright FFFiiiAA

[Nymeria]

Waiting was always the worst part. Nymeria wished she were not the observant type. It was a personality trait that she did not envy about herself. ”You should be proactive” Nymeria recalled to herself. It was a statement her sister Brinley often stated to her. Brinley was always the more outgoing of the two. Nymeria was the silent watcher. Life was always quieter and safer in the shadows. The shadows were no longer an option for Nymeria’s fresh start. What a shame, Nymeria bemoaned. The wait had felt forever as if seasons themselves passed several times over. But alas the lone mare was dramatizing the situation considering her wish had come true. A friendly face approached Nymeria. She noted the grace of the other mare, and quickly compared herself out of habit. She didn’t believe herself inferior, but surely didn’t believe herself to be superior either. ”Why its nice to meet you, Sunday” She said with a soft, almost throat-clogged tone. Nymeria coughed lightly and started to speak up when another horse came upon them. This one was huskier, a stallion. He spoke his name and of a region, the desert. Nymeria thought such an add on to be quite strange. She couldn’t mask her questioning face- Surely it wasn’t common in this land for horses to distinguish themselves by a location-but maybe it was. At this time Nymeria was growing a bit overwhelmed. Her wish had definitely been granted-ten fold. Another mare had approached the small gathering, and this one had caught Nymeria’s attention quickly. She had wondrous wings that clung to her side and an aura about her that felt almost ancient. The introduction was made and a location was also attached to the name. Confused by such a phenomenon Nymeria found herself tongue tied for a moment before she was able to blurt out her own name. ”My name is Nymeria……..from the…..uh..field?” She said with a bit of embarrassment clouding her words. nymeria

[Sunday]

Sunday's smile is gentle, it doesn't waver and it's not unkind. She doesn't hesitate to give her nod of hello to each horse that approaches, taking a step away to give them all space. She remembers the field and what it means to be new, and foreign. Beqanna is overwhelming - its rules, its rulers, its kingdoms. As someone who grew up in a herd she'd never imagine herself so deep in the Amazons as she is now.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Nymeria," she says gently, though her tone is not condescending. She's kept the distance between them enough to feel uncrowded. She can sense the unease rolling off the mare, she can see it in the changes in color around her form. Sunday can read auras better now than before, and she recognizes all of these feelings. She's felt them more than once. "It is customary here to greet those in the field with our home, as most of us hope to recruit you to live with us. For example, I am from the Amazons, a female only kingdom. The Deserts are a good kingdom, and the Valley is an evil kingdom. Oh, but don't mistake the realm for its intent, a kingdom is no more evil than a rock or a tree. But I'll allow them to speak for themselves." The last bit she adds quickly, her eyes glancing between the others, hoping she didn't overstep her bounds too much.

"As I said, the Amazons are a jungle of women warriors, though I am no warrior myself. A simple diplomat." Her smile is still kind, though the smallest glint of mischief tinkers at the edges. 'Simple' is not an appropriate term for Sunday.

SUNDAY
the amazons magickal mare

[Kreios]

kreios don't you tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash I glance over as the third mare joins us. There is something about her that…oh. She is from the Valley. I have a wary admiration for that kingdom, a strange combination of my father’s hatred and my mother’s love. It has been foreign, mystical, and now there is a small brown mare that looks like neither the demon nor the angel that I had been expecting. I greet her with a smile that is somewhat more pleasant than I might give a total stranger, though I am always eager to meet strangers. She has a strange scar that reminds me of the Amazon desertion scars, and I wonder if she has lost something, somewhere. Not a question for today, I tell myself. I respond to Nymeria’s puzzle face with a frown of my own. Had I misspoke? It’s a common fear of mine, despite the fact that my dull tongue had been healed in childhood. I am always a little worried that I will say the wrong thing, stress the wrong word, and ruin everything. But no, I realize as she gives us her own name, it’s not something that I have said. It is our traditions that are odd, the adding of our homeland after our names. At that I smile – I had not realized that such a thing might be odd. I will be more careful in the future, I tell myself, I will not make others feel awkward for not knowing what I considered common knowledge. The Amazon mare, Sunday, explains this, and I nod along. She has a way with words, and when he says that she is diplomat I understand. She is a good one, I think; she is good at the caste she has chosen. She certainly doesn’t strike me as evil, and I wonder what my queens might think of this soft-spoken amazon, and if it is her kind that they want us to fight against. “She’s right,” I say to Nymeria, nodding in Sunday’s direction. “The Deserts is traditionally the light kingdom, but we are all just horses.” Horses with wings and horns and magic, but unique individuals with our own thoughts and ideas, nonetheless. “I’m here representing them, but also myself. I am hoping to start a herd of my own.” I want to elaborate, but I fear that I have already done enough confusing things, and chose to wait. It is Librette’s turn to speak now, after all, and I do not want to seem discourteous.

[Librette]

As a child you would wait, and watch from far away. But you always knew you'd be the one to work while they all play. She can't help but smile when Nymeria introduces herself as being Nymeria from the field. Librette immediately sees a kindred spirit, another mare who is just as awkward as she is. In another world, she could've said the same thing, the same way – maybe she even did, back before Glenora took her off to the Valley. Her smile isn't obvious, just slight enough to give her a slightly pleasant expression. With a warrior's constant wariness, she notes the way Kreios looks at her as well. She's been absent from Beqanna long enough that she doesn't recognize Vanquish in the boy, that she wouldn't even know what Vanquish meant – that she knows nothing of Lyric. She should be better with the history of the Valley, she knows, but there's only so many hours in the day. She tentatively returns his smile. What else can she do? The other two horses speak, and Librette watches them with casual interest. Sunday's description of the kingdoms is a good one – and a fair one, something that almost surprises her considering how competitive recruiting is these days. It's every man (or woman) for themselves, and yet they all stay cordial. And before long, it is her turn to speak. "Nice to meet you, Nymeria." she smiles a little, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "A lot of us have been from the field, at least at one time or another." She herself has been here twice, once so many years ago, when Glenora had found her and taken her home, and once later, when she'd found Magnus drowning in a sea as choppy as her own and the two of them had lashed together, forming a desperate union to save themselves from the storm. It had worked, they hadn't drowned. At least, not then. "The Valley is traditionally the land of evils." she says plainly, She's never been one to embellish. "But that doesn't mean we go around…murdering all the time, or anything." That's not to say that they never do. There had been that whole murder pits thing. But that was a lifetime ago now. "For the most part, every kingdom wants the same things, strength, support, safety." she shrugs. "The difference is that the Valley is willing to explore everything that might get us there." Including, y'know, murder. Sometimes just because. Often for a purpose. "We have warriors and diplomats. I'm both, myself, although I'm not a very good diplomat." She answers honestly, entirely frank about her shortcomings. Really she should not be allowed to open her mouth and represent the Valley, because every time she does she seems to just put her hoof so far in her mouth that she can never get it back out again. Really, it's a miracle she hasn't done that here already. "Do you…have any ideas about what kind of home you're looking for?" Don't weep for me LIBRETTE Because this will be the labor of my love. Image copyright FFFiiiAA

[Nymeria]

It was at this time that Nymeria felt blessed for being the color that she was. She could feel her face flush and beads of sweat form beneath the tuft of mane atop her head. She was fully aware of her own inadequacies especially now that her lack of knowledge was brought to light. Sunday was the one to first correct her. She did so graciously and for that Nymeria was thankful. Apparently Beqanna was filled with herds called kingdoms. Nymeria noted to herself that each “kingdom” found an alignment to some sort of moral ground. Although this note was quickly overturned when Sunday went onto explain that the term evil and good were simply descriptive terms no long taken for face value. Nymeria couldn’t help but allow a soft smile to form on her lips as Sunday spoke of her home. The Amazon’s sounded fascinating- It being made up of all mares and all. Nymeria didn’t have much of a warriors heart (not yet anyway), so she was thankful that “Diplomat” was apparently another position. Sunday was sure good at it. Nymeria with her introverted spirit was unsure she could possible fill such steep expectations. Next the stallion spoke. He was apart of the “light” kingdom- light, she assumed, meant good. He went onto speak of starting his own herd- this being another peculiar practice. Nymeria had thought that the kingdoms were herds, obviously she was a bit mistaken but it honestly wasn’t worth mentioning. It was at this point that Nymeria was catching onto the manners of the kingdom horses. They were each taking turns speaking in such a structured way that she wondered if all such kingdoms had found peace amongst each other. The mare that had come last was now allowed to speak. It did comfort Nymeria to hear that other horses who were now in esteemed diplomat positions had once been in her position. At least she had an attainable goal. The Valley sounded equally as interesting as the rest. Nymeria nodded along to the words strength, support, safety. She believed that those were goals often set by each individual as well. Now the question was how did Nymeria feel about executed whatever means necessary? The tables had finally turned back to her. She had a lot to think over, a lot to consider. For the first time in her adult life she had to answer for herself what she wanted. Her eyes went to Sunday then to Kreios and finally Librette. ”I….” oh gawd…..her heart felt like it was beginning to fling itself from her chest, as if her ribs were being pried open- was it obvious that she was nervous? Hopefully not. ”I believe that….” What did she believe? ”…um…first let me thank each of you for your hospitality. I do not easily forget and your kindness will be remembered.” Okay…that was easy- speak from your heart, Nymeria thought before she took a deep breath. ”I believe that I’m in need of a quiet life right now. I need to take time to discover myself more. So…” She looked to Kreios, the stallion that was offering her comfort zone, a herd. Nymeria wasn’t ready for an adventure, not yet. ”I’d like to join your herd, sir.” She then looked back toward Sunday. ”Thank you for introducing me to the idea of warrior mares…I know of that sanctuary now.” Next Librette ”Thank you for introducing me to the Valley. Maybe one day I will be willing to explore everything within myself. I admire you for doing so.” And it was with that she was ready to be taken away to a quiet life. Hopefully one day Nymeria would discover that she had been capable of being useful anywhere, but as for now she was choosing to be comfortable. nymeria

[Kreios]

kreios don't you tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash When Librette elaborates on the Valley, I am easily able to fill in what she leaves out in the space behind her words. I know enough of the place (despite my sire’s hatred of the place he was not one for dramatic embellishments) to do so, but I am also sure that nothing incredibly terrible has gone on there of late. At least, nothing that the gossips have caught on about, though they have a magician that might easily quiet any rumors. It is a diplomats place to worry, I remind myself; there is no need to concern myself with the inner workings of a kingdom I will never see. When it is time for Nymeria to speak again, I recognize the uncertainty in her gaze (I’ve worn it myself more times than I can count), and shift my attention to the horizon beyond her shoulder. Best to not make her feel the center of attention, even if we all know that is what is happening. Eye contact is stressful; I always stuttered beneath my father’s black gaze even without a broken mouth. Only when I see, from the corner of my eye, that she is now looking squarely at me do I return my attention, and with it a smile. “I, oh. Okay. Great.” My awkward answer is in stark contrast to her politeness, but I’ve never done this before – this having of someone accept my offer of a herd – and I am not sure what is appropriately enthusiastic. “It’s the Orange Country,” I tell her, naming the herd land closest to the kingdom of the Dewdrop Desert. I’d decided that its proximity is the most beneficial, and I am rather fond of the particular shade of orange of the entire place.