- There's A lullaby for suffering and a paradox to blame -
"You summoned me, Father?"
The reds that had once been plastered in the sky, a display of power by the sun that guided the world with its light, now retreated to the ends of the earth, a deep blue and gradient grey replacing it, an announcement to all of the world's creatures that nightfall was imminent. Taking the sun's spot in the sky was the moon, a solid, glowing orb that only grew brighter and bolder with each passing moment, its ascent high above the heads of onlookers proceeding finely as its own light replaced that of the sun. Its silvery rays, just beginning to filter through the mass of various leaves, reflected nicely on her Father, who stood a few hands above herself and was, undoubtedly, a male who was built in a more husky fashion than she, who maintained the sleekness of her mother, a trait that she considered fortunate.
"Do you know what happens to deserters Medea?"
She replied that she did not, though not because a lack of knowledge. Her father liked to be amused.
"Your brothers would hunt them down. But they have more pressing matters now, and I trust that you will be able to fulfill the role in their absence."
She did not speak out of conditioning. Having been around her Father for her whole life, she knew what he would interpret as her speaking out of turn. She simply nodded, her curls bobbing faintly with the slight gesture of her tasteful head.
"Good. They've been watching this deserter. Speak to them once you're ready. Make the traitor remember what happens to their ilk. And you would do well to remember it as well."
After stumbling upon a small oasis, it had seemed that a plethora of memories had returned to Medea the moment water had touched her parched lips. She was reminded of why she had decided to leave the North and go to the South, why she had decided to choose the Barrens of all places to stay, especially when there were other territories that were much more hospitable and inviting than the depths of what could only be described as an endless emptiness. Her father was the answer and, of course, given the situation, it was almost fitting that all of Medea's problems were, and had always been, linked right back to his colossal hooves and tampering touch. She was almost certain that, under his instruction, a mercenary, or perhaps even one of her brothers, was searching for her, hunting her as she stood in the blazing sun, clinging to the small pool of life-saving liquid that had collected in a lucky, yet unforeseen, web of events. Whether or not her Father would ever admit it, she had value to him, both as a worker and as a female. She could fulfill the tasks that were beyond her brothers, and if a male, like-minded to him, decided he would consider joining, he could always promise her as a token of good faith and mutual respect.
She cursed the sun as its piercing gaze burned her dark coat, the smoky brown and more bold points that made up her roan markings feeling the full brunt of its force. Her thick mane, with its collection of ringlets, felt as if it was on fire, with each touch against her strong neck almost a silent plea for her to find shade and relief. The ivory blaze on her near convex nose was the only part of her body that seemed to be slightly spared by the unbearable heat, but the same certainly did not go for stockings on each of her long legs, the featherings of her hooves immediately nulling any beneficial cooling that the color had the potential to provide.
It wasn't very long into her drinking that she lifted her head suddenly, the curls of her mane reeling back as her neck stood erect, her head resting alertly on it with pricked ears, intent on picking up a sound other than the dust-filled wind. She sniffed at the air, with her ebony eyes she searched the barren plains. Something was... off, someone was coming, and she, was going to be ready for it.
OOC: I hope this is alright! I'm still breaking into her character
It was his own wanderlust and the scent of water that drew the stallion here. While he was the new lead of Evergreen Fields, he was a Southern horse. Born and bred for the rough conditions of the south. He was here, wandering, perhaps even looking for recruits. His land was silent. No one yet lived there, but he felt deep within his breast, that that needed to change. He could not build an army, he could not defend himself against the vain Northerners in the North, if he did not have man-power or standing. As the dust rose up around his broad hooves, and his journey carried him deeper into the barrens, he made his way silently, yet alertly, deeper into the desert.
He could scent the water, and as the small oasis, one of few that sprouted up in the barrens, he moved ever towards it. Likely the water was tainted with dirt and minerals, the rugged plants that grew up around it scraggly and fighting for life, but to a horse that was not acquainted with the niceties of life, the bitter water tasted like heaven. The minerals and dirt all but ignored. They were simply there, as the thirst was quenched regardless of the taste or the contaminants floating within.
Finally, as he made his way down the brief incline, he scented another horse nearby. It was the gentle scent of a mare. Flaring his nostrils with the odor, but otherwise ignoring it for the time being, he took a deep drought of water before lifting his head and assessing the horse in front of him. She was a leggy seal bay roan. Tall for a mare, yet with feathers hanging from her fetlocks. Odd. Though her body spoke of speed and agility, the feathering gave away her heritage, and he thought she must have some strength in her, even if her lean body spoke otherwise.
While several rude comments floated through his mind, mostly pertaining to the fact that she had draft heritage, but hardy bore it, he kept his mouth shut. He simply examined her with steely blue eyes before speaking after long last.
"Hello." He grunted gruffly. He was not one for conversation with strangers, but considering she was the first horse he had ran into on his journey here, he might as well be somewhat friendly. He wouldn't be able to find recruits if he didn't up his social game. After a long pause he spoke again. "I am Thalion, lead of the Tabernathy Herd." Having nothing more to say, he waited to see if she would respond, and he lowered his head again to drink the bitter water.
OOC: I'm so sorry for the wait, and the pretty rough post. Life should be slowing down now, so I should be more active now. Can't wait to have this unfold Word Count: 447 Muse: 7/10 Medea
- There's A lullaby for suffering and a paradox to blame -
In the distance, there was no sound other than the wind rolling off of the dusty earth and the distant screech of an eagle as it found its long-awaited prey. But there were smells, scents that filled the air with a vibrancy and colour. She smelt water, its rejuvenating properties clear and fresh in the breeze, a staple to the residents of the Barrens that life there was possible, and that they would be rewarded for their tenacity with the promise of relieving their parched lips and tongues. There was the scent of the dirt and dust underneath the scorch of the sun, a thick scent that seemed to mask those of less importance. And then... there was an almost familiar odour, familiar only in the respect that she recognized it belonged to another horse. The musk of a stallion, a scent that she found both pleasant and unbearable. She certainly had not had the best experiences with males, but she knew that not all were like her brothers and Father. That was one of the primary reasons she had left them after all.
There was a haze over the landscape, an illusion cast by the sun and heat, blurring the various sights that were laid out before her. But, she saw him in the distance, a pale figure rumbling towards her and the water, a patchwork of various muted shades of cream and white, crediting him with an almost angelic appearance, though there was a power to his gait that was anything but gentle and welcoming. With each step he drew closer to her, the more subtle details in his appearance becoming clearer and clearer through the haze that had obscured his figure only moments ago. She saw deep scars within his muscled hide and embedded deep into his face, one that was traditional in the draft appearance. She saw steely blue eyes, pale and cold, mirrors to the trials he had suffered and the experience his life had credited to him. She knew the gaze quite well and, in a way, she couldn't help but note that it was quite similar to her own.
He approached the pool of water, large head lowering to the ground as he drank the liquid, otherwise ignoring her for the time being. Her dark gaze remained on him for a brief moment and, upon not finding any negative intentions towards herself, she lowered her head once again, permitting the water to touch her lips as she resumed drinking, the ringlets of her mane dipping into the small oasis and carrying a few droplets which would drip from their dark strands whenever she would lift her head. She was aware of his gaze on her, studying her as she had done to him on his approach. Her ears, once again, were erect and alert on her head, making it clear that she was paying attention, both to him and her surroundings.
His voice was not gentle nor soft, and it did not carry the manipulative charm that had belonged to her Father. It was gruff, but it was real, not an illusion presented as a way to trick others and gain the trust and respect of those too simple-minded to realize that he was anything but leaderlike. There was an authenticity to his tone. But despite her initial approval, she did not respond, her only acknowledgement of his voice being a simple flick of her ear as he began to speak. But during the pause that descended upon the two of them, her head lifted from the water she had drunk so intently moments before, the droplets dripping off of her lips and mane alike. Her dark eyes were now trained on him and she stood tall, proud and elegant, not letting the fact that he was much larger than her affect her poise in any manner.
"I am Thalion, lead of the Tabernathy Herd."
Thalion. She knew not the origins of his name, but somehow, either from the commanding tone he announced it with or of its general sound, it fit him. Her gaze remained stony and neutral, neither softness nor an interest presenting itself within her ebony pools. But her ears, once again, were swivelled alertly towards him, providing him, at least, with the insight that she was listening to his words.
"Medea." She replied simply, her voice, despite her youth, carrying a surprising amount of maturity and authority that seemed beyond her years, "Of no herd."