The morning was dampened by a light spring rain, one that trickled down from the overhead branches in shining droplets and clung to the dark, messy hair and chocolate frame of a tall, muscular stallion.  Dark with dampness, the satchels worn across his large figure occasionally thwap against his wet sides as he slowly trots down the familiar paths of the Threshold.
 
The son of Adalwulf and the Dragoness has come back to Helovia, mostly because it is a kingdom he knows, but also because he is tired of wandering; he misses the comfort of familiar faces, even if he usually sought to avoid them, and has become surprised to find himself wondering, more often than he ever thought he might have, if they missed him like he missed them.
 
He wasn’t even sure why he’d left now, so small was the emotional discontent or action which set his hooves to walking right on out of Helovia and into the world beyond.  He wasn’t sure it mattered, not now that he had found his home was no longer on the island of dragons, or out in the greater world at all.
 
It was here, wherever Kahlua, Ranjiri, Aaron, Mirage, Alysanne, and Resplendence were.  It was this land which had taught him the true meaning of pride, a pride that was not found in blood, but in craft and in companionship; here he had made his first true friends, friends that were anything at all like those he had imagined in his youth, and here he had learned to accept that, sometimes, things did not go as one planned – but that, regardless, life would go on, and that the discordance was, ultimately, harmony.
 
 
[ OOC: Ugh first post problems. They will not suck as much in the future I swear. Ali I know you are on vacation but I’m tagging you anyway. ;D ]
 
@Ranjiri

A shining ruby dragon alights on the path before him, stopping his steady hooves in a sudden motion that sends his pouches wildly smacking about his sides and his dark, ivory streaked mane flying about his thick neck and surprised features, tangling about his fetlock adorned hind limbs in a messy array; his pale eyes land upon the scaled beast with an air of recognition that ignites golden sparks of hope through him.

He knows this dragon; it takes him only a few seconds to think of his name.

Valiance? he asks the healthy red, earning what he assumes is the click of greeting and returning his own cheerful smile – though he discovers, as the tree line rustles and the dragon’s bonded slips through, that the winged reptile was being bold for Resplendence.

Dragomir’s head lifts excitedly, his blue eyes vibrant with the happiness he feels to see her whole and well as he remembered her (still so small and dainty); they both are older, and it shows in the reservations on her face that, once, had been absent, allowing her pale pink bodice to bound towards those she loved with a carefree delight, that, in memory, and in contrast to her soft approach now and the question which slips from her lips (as if she has grown used to ghosts), almost make his heart ache.

Almost, except that he’s just so happy to see someone he knows after so long on his own, someone from a place that he remembered as home, as much as he recalled the Dragon Isle as such.

Resplendence! he says, stepping towards her and extending his muzzle in a traditional equine greeting, hoping to exchange breath with her for a moment, to smell the sweet grasses of the Edge upon her exhalations. But, as he moves near her, he is met with a strange smell, a smell that he had encountered once while on an emissary’s mission to a land ruled by some pegasus in golden armor. It had been about the woman who had challenged Kahlua, in a realm ruled by rivers and grasses.

Why did she smell like there, and not like home? The first lines of concern cross his face, the happy illusion that nothing had changed shattering almost as soon as it had solidified in his thoughts, and while he doesn’t pull away, he does feel the smallest part of his heart whither with fear that the Edge is no more.

He pulls away from her as a flash of white streaks towards the red, the two dragons twirling off into whatever mad wyvern world they resided in when together; standing among two bonded and the delight they shared with the dragons, Dragomir felt a familiar flash of envy and sadness that he hadn’t yet been so blessed.

Oh, well, he thinks, turning instead to address the stallion whom evidently belongs to the shining pearl dragon, and who also seems to know Resplendence. Something about him seems like Dragomir should know who he is, too, but he can’t recall – it’s a common problem for him, anyway, a direct consequence of not forfeiting his solitude unless absolutely necessary.

They meet eyes for a while, gold to blue, and the elder stag introduces himself first. Dragomir is glad for this because he never seems to say anything right, and it’s generally easier to get it at least close when someone else leads him into it. The familiarity of the stallion is explained – they had lived together, maybe, or he’d been in a story told to him at some point or another. It makes the tri-hued paint smile at the thought that he’d lived with so many absolute strangers.

Good to meet you, he says, looking to both the grullo and his dragon, I’m…

“DRAGOMIR!” comes a familiar female voice, answering for him, stealing his eyes away in a swift bend of his thick, chocolate neck to find the trees exploding open and an extremely familiar figure leaping towards him too fast to be stopped without running into him.

Her wing hangs low, its feathers torn. He notices this and his mouth becomes a slightly open frown, his pale eyes furrowing. But then he notices the boils, and his mouth opens entirely, the sky blue of his eyes nearly watering that his beautiful Ranjiri is obviously in such pain, and that no one, not even that stupid family of hers that she loved so much, had helped her.

And even though her wing is obviously damaged and sore, she sweeps it around him regardless of her suffering, the scent of her feathers blending with the sickness that covers her and the old blood of her wounds. For a moment he lets himself rest against her, not worrying about whether or not the boils are contagious, because he has missed her like she missed him.

He also knows how Ranjiri can be – she likes to pretend she’s much stronger than she is, and she is, after all, a girl. All girls want to be hugged when they’ve had a rough week, right?

After a moment he steps back, looking bashfully at the gathered faces around him, especially Lace (because he doesn’t really know him, and can’t help but wonder how he looks to the older male now). He nods in answer to Ranjiri’s enthusiastic statement of his return, flashing the gold and black mare a close lipped grin that tries its best to wash the worry away from the lines of his features.

Clearing his throat after a moment, he looks from his friends to the new face of the black pointed stallion, letting his ears fall back in the weight of the emotions that crossed his heart to know he had come home – only to find it falling apart again.

What happened to you, Ranjiri? he asks, concern lining his face, fear widening his eyes as he thinks of the last thing to besiege the land while he was here, did the wraiths come back?


@Resplendence

Her explanation of the different smell which wreathes her creamy pelt breaks his heart.

The Falls? Why would they move there? Had something happened to the Edge, to Kahlua? A dark fear blooms in the depths of ice blue irises, pupil quivering in line with eyes that shimmering with a wetness that rises unbidden, yet does not pool and fall.

It is these emotionally heavy eyes which find the grullo stallion and his white bonded, these eyes which widen in surprise as Resplendence tells of his becoming a great silver dragon. Dragomir had seen Mirage, their golden queen, in her scaled regalia, the power she had held in her grasp awe inspiring, so much so that the stallion held a reverence about her like that which one gives a God. That Lace can become a dragon as well makes chocolate ears lift, some of his sorrow that the Edge likely wouldn’t ever be his home again rising with them.

The mention of the ebonite Queen sends another aching ripple through the painted stag, the same which seems to deflate Resplendence. Gently, he reaches out to touch her shoulder in comfort, as if he made absorb some of the sorrow that radiates from the herbalist.

He misses her, too.

Any divine regard that might have been given the grullo is lost as he explains that it was only a borrowed power, though the former Glazier cannot help but wonder what sort of enchantment had allowed Lace to do such a thing at all, what sort of intoxicating majesty filled one’s being while holding such a mighty form. As if in answer, the dark lips of the warrior crafter kiss upon an amulet which rests on his chest – drawing to mind a similar object in Dragomir’s possession, the question as to what magic lies in it.

Here he’d thought it was only a trinket. Lace’s words make him rethink this entirely.

And then he’s lost in Ranjiri, her sudden deflation drawing concern across his face, a smile gracing his simple yet handsome features as he gathers she’s worried that he will now get sick, too. Reaching out with his dark tipped muzzle, the stallion attempts to nip at the strands of pale hair framing her pale face, wishing to see her smile instead of blaming herself for things fate would likely have delivered him, anyway.

It’s okay, he says, deep bass voice rumbling with a warmth reserved for his closest friends. She still smells like sand and warmth, even with the pervasive stench of sickness, and it sends him back to the last time she’d been hurt and needing someone.

It isn’t wraiths, Resplendence tells him (fretting, as all good healers do, over the wounds his hybrid friend bares – he smiles at her gratefully, oh so gratefully), Ranjiri immediately leaping in with a deeper explanation – new lands, strange Gods, stranger faces, diseases…

It sounded like a terrible idea, if Dragomir was asked. But no one did, the attentions of all present turning to the aureate and ebonite damsel, for which the young stallion was thankful – it gives him a break from conversation, the interactions between the living that he dreads as much as he craves.

A small sun crackles under the kiss of the rain as Lace approaches to inspect Ranjiri’s wing, Dragomir stepping to the side, his massive hooves leaving indentions in the soft earth, crystalline eyes sparkling with the yellow orange light of the encapsulated flame.

Like his mother, he enjoys magic, and its various forms. A thousand questions of its origin, use, ability, how strenuous its up keep may be, how long he has held the power and from where it came, they usher in one after the other in a sweeping flow that steals all words from Dragomir as healer and stranger tsk and fuss.

Ranjiri seems uncomfortable – it makes the painted stag smile to see their positions so reversed. Normally, he’s the one scrunching up into himself, wishing everyone else would look elsewhere, while she’s the center of it all, shining like the gold embellishments which adorn her. He’s looking at her and wondering how much healing could be accomplished on such an old wound when he realizes she’d asked him a question.

All he can do is shrug, a certain melancholy air taking him.

No where, he answers, and its truthful – he had only walked, and walked some more, occasionally stopping to rest.

And it had cost him so much. Regret fills the depths of his rich, sensuous voice.

Most of the Edge has moved to the Falls…

I, uh, well, I just sort of… walked.

And thought, he thinks, but doesn’t say, not wanting to get so involved in his personal feelings when there is a stranger standing there, when he’s never really opened up quite that way to Resplendence before. It makes him feel weak enough to stand there so obviously full of sadness, regret, the pain of lost hope occasionally burning like arcs from a broken electrical line.

With a measure of interest he gives all things new to him, he watches and admires the tracing path of Resplendence’s vines; he is distracted enough that he does not take notice of the rosy mare’s discomfort, though he does understand why Ranjiri pulls away. It can’t be entirely settling to be so grounded to the earth, no matter what healing the plants accomplish.

While his pale maned friend works away, the strange stallion stands by with his light, the curious painted stallion occasionally looking back to the burning ball with interest between the words passing between the company of four.

Dragomir meets the glance of Ranjiri with some bashfulness – he knows the answer is indirect, and its evident she finds it unsatisfactory as the vines fall away from her. A more direct inquiry meets his ears. He shuffles his hooves beneath him, pondering on the best sort of answer.

More of the land of Loorien, though I avoided anywhere that seemed inhabited, he says with a roll of his heavy shoulder, deep voice rolling about the physical details of his venture, not the emotional ones, ever aware of the presence of a man who is mostly a stranger to him (he is not Ranjiri, open with her soul, his heart is one hidden by stone barricades and windowless walls – though the walls have cracks, and the barricades are flimsy and worn), occasionally a traveler or two would cross my path, but mostly it was forests and fields, steep hillocks and mountains.

His blue eyes wrinkle at the corners, a smile soft and warm gracing his face as he reaches out with his muzzle towards Ranjiri.

I am back now, he says, his resonantly deep voice warm and rolling, his features honest, tinged with the knowledge of change and the regret of having not been here to watch its passing, I’m sorry for being gone so long.

Looking to Resplendence, her voice soft and weary from the use of her magic, the child of the Steadfast and the Dragoness feels his pale gaze waver. Does he really want to know? What if the story is lined with death, a tale of loss and devastation drawing blood from his soul?

He does not know what he wants, even when Ranjiri chooses for him (earning a small glance of surprise before he looks back to Resplendence). Why would she be interested? She belonged to the land of the deserts, not the forests or the fields. Still… he will oblige her, a thought which flashes painfully through him when he thinks of what all he must have missed, a thought which he uses to brace himself for what words may come.

It is probably best, he admits aloud.

Valiance’s weight is welcome, a physical representation of the drop his heart makes when he thinks that home, if he wants to be among those he had known before, is no longer in the Edge; gone is his quiet clearing with the perfectly notched tree, the sparkle of his collected things forever lost beneath the leaves that, surely, had accumulated in his absence.

He thinks of the misty forest as Resplendence explains what became of the Edge, the pretty light that the grullo casts with his magic flickering across her face and through the misty veil of rain, all of whom seem distant in the lull of his thoughts, even Ranjiri, so close.

Dragomir remembers the floating island, and the clouds that had stolen him away into the heavens. He remembers Kahlua dancing beneath the stars, in a celebration for the Moon. It is one of his last memories here, one that hurts still as he remembers it – because she had worn his glass, the glass he had made with love for her writ on every fiber of his will as he cast it over the flowers and gems he had gathered, the glass which had earned him, not the love he had desired, but a gracious thank you.

He pushes those thoughts aside to hear how others would come to view the island, so serene, as a bearer of sadness as he himself did. Following the tale that Resplendence weaves, he finds validation to the wariness that had filled him as he spied the shrine built for the Goddess in the land of the Moon, the same wariness that had kept him from it for the years he had lived there.

What comes next, however, makes the stallion’s eyes widen. An invasion?

It defied every notion that, as far as he was concerned, anyway, Kahlua had lead the herd in favor of. Peace, a unified Helovia, a land where none had to fear. And yet, to save her own skin, the Sunshower had done the opposite of every creed she had ever sought to serve. To add further disgust to the overall viewpoint of the tall stallion, it was done with the Basin, a herd that was, as far as Dragomir had heard it, morally deplorable.

The truth settles like stones in the waters of his thoughts, too many droplets pooling within his mental basin until it overflows. His crystalline eyes grow hard, almost icy, though he does not condemn his compassionate friend – nor does he truly condemn Kahlua (though he knows why none have seen her, the mare likely hiding from her shame), Kaj, whoever Archibald is. He simply feels angry, and knows in his heart that the actions, driven by fear, perseverance, selfishness, were unjust.

Wrong.

Yet, as always, he is overwhelmed by the more present of the present, a tricolored statue of silent indignation and anger at the cruel turn of the world. Lace delves into words of Mauja, and Torleik, names Dragomir does not know but are said with an air of dislike… and yet, he lists their crimes, crimes which make the chocolate and ivory stallion decide he does not care for these individuals if what Lace says is true. And yet, the Steadfast’s son also understands how bitter an aging heart can be, how unable to let go of old ideals and lost stories.

His father lives among ghosts. Why wouldn’t this man have a few, as well?

His simpering questions almost say as much, that he has heard the Edge was abandoned and still wonders why it has new rulers; but compassion wells in the heart of the young stag, a mortal worry that such a fate will befall himself easing his hardened eyes into softer ones, eyes that understand what it is to find things changed and to dislike the course.

Softened by the mourning in the stallion’s voice, Dragomir’s resolve breaks entirely as Ranjiri finds her voice as all is said between the two long term herd mates.

He turns to look at her as she steps away, a surprise widening his eyes.

Her brother, her father? The thought makes his heart tremble, a memory instantaneously drawn to mind of the same girl quivering with tears, so afraid of the idea that this family would be angry with her with events she could not control, so deep was her love.

Ranjiri… he says, softly, a step taken nearer to her.

Where had he been while she wept this time? He probably couldn’t even remember.

And who had held her?

As much as I miss Mirage, states the stallion more boldly, letting his eyes look from Lace to Resplendence (such softness lighting his features as he sees her morose face, so torn by the actions she had known to be wrong, forced to rely on the strength of others as so many of the meek), their gently glinting blue light landing at last upon Ranjiri, I hope she doesn’t return. She would be ashamed of what has come to pass by the hooves of those who wielded her light of peace.

To take a needed home is tolerable. To take by force, because they feared the retribution of the Goddess? his mouth becomes a frown, his tail swishing behind him as his ears splay, disliking the entire course of this conversation, the course his quiet and peaceful world had taken whilst he’d turned his back, the Edge has earned her wrath more than most, the moment they turned their back on peace.

He shakes his head, slowly, as if he might rattle loose the ugly truths that settle and sink like leaden weights, letting the rain soak into the dark cords of his mane, almost savoring the cold kiss of the falling water to the hot knot of outrage that twists and burns in him that they, his people, had crushed the serenity of others so completely.

It was in the Edge’s light he had hidden his darkness, their light which had allowed him to force the wickedness in his heart to still and shrink. The light now seemed a falsified flame, lit to please the ears of the trusting and extinguished when the need for violence arose.

His head begins to ache, a slow pulse of agony. He wants to fold into himself and hide, to slip back out into the rain and away from all these things that hurt.

But they have already embedded. He cannot run, not now.

I… I think I will walk Ranjiri home, he says at long last, letting his ears fall aside in defeat, succumbing to the heavy waves of reality that he truly did not feel up to swimming today – he deftly decides to pick which wave to breast, instead, I know the way to the Falls, Resplendence.

And he does – though he does not know it, he even met Ranjiri’s father on the venture, having traveled with a small party to parlay on the matter of Aurelia. He had loved the land of rivers and waterfalls when he had first laid eyes upon it, the rapturous beauty of the earth’s realm an alluring counter to the tall, dark wood of the Edge – though he now imagines the water red, despite the memories of it being clear as crystal.

I will think about your offer.

[ OOC: longest dragomir post everrrrrr oh and look he said stuff :D ]

He watches Resplendence move from emotional to almost frantic, her small sides heaving and her pretty pink face suddenly glistening with the slip of tears. The truth that falls from her is poignant, staggering – it draws a gentle expression to the face of the compassionate stallion, one that is outlined with an ache that spreads outwards as her words resonate in his head.

The Qian was Mirage.

Perhaps it had been, hadn’t it?

The last time he had seen her this emotionally distraught, it had been a dream that their home was burning, falling apart. That she was as upset as she had been then now is of logical order to the stallion, and so it is also logical order that he do the same things now that he had done then – but as he recalls it, he had been far more intimate with the small doctor then than he cared to be now, in front of so many strangers.

And so he awkwardly fails to do much at all other than look at the down trodden, pretty mare with the expression one gives a lost child, or mourning widow.

He wants to leave with Ranjiri when she gets upset then for many reasons, not just because the gold and ebony mare is his friend, but because he cannot bare to be around Resplendence and her sorrow when his is so fresh, and he does not want to think anymore of all the wonderful, angel like women who guided his path in this land so far from his father’s teachings, the women who can no longer guide him… because they are gone, dead or vanished.

He hopes vanished – or tries to, anyway. A small voice in his head demands that they will never come back.

The soft question that falls from her lips makes him stop, makes his crystal eyes shudder with regret that he has only deepened her sadness in his attempts to escape his own. For a single second that feels like a thousand years he stares at his hooves, stopped dead in his tracks, dark rimmed ears falling back just before he looks back to the herbalist.

The reels click within his mind, they pull her words together, and his words offer her what solace he can find in the truth that he does not know if he will ever live in the Falls, if he will ever bare to see such similar faces in such strange surroundings, blended with those who held prior allegiances and loves.

Family does not break apart, Resplendence, he answers, thinking of his mother, his father, his siblings – how they wandered the face of Loorien and still, when he reached deep into his soul, he could feel their love, love does not fall away, no matter how far it is stretched.

His ears pull forward, his brows furrow thoughtfully, ice blue eyes searching her tear stricken face with hope that she will be consoled (for his words have eased the tight knot within himself ever so slightly as he said them).

Isn’t that right, Ranjiri? he asks his friend, pulling his gaze away from the pale mare the nudge the golden marked shoulder nearest to him with a dark muzzle, his tail swaying to let the glass feather and branch clink against one another.

@Resplendence
[ OOC: Closure postages ~ that way he doesn't just walk off with her all upset because he would so not do that D: ]