Ivezho

Ivezho didn't know what it was about the Grove that drew him. Perhaps the stillness of the pond within, the tranquillity it offered, the peace it radiated. Ivezho could use a little peace in his life - Helovia wasn't known for it in general, and so if the Grove could provide him with it where nowhere else could, the Grove he shall go.

The peace of the Grove didn't do much for the raging torrent of thoughts within his crown, however. Ivezho had left the Throat, within intentions of returning, but actually doing that was different to the simple well-intended intent. He had learned that he was to be an uncle, that his brother had grown and found himself a lover, at least for one night, (and if what had happened in the Meadow was anything to go by, perhaps that love ran deeper than just that one time?).

What did he have to show for himself?

Always Ivezho measured himself against his brother, always he found himself lacking, wanting to be better, to be like Rhoa, for Rhoa was the perfect son, the one that didn't leave when things got too confusing, the one that belonged with his family and the herd, the one who knew and understood and performed his duty willingly, enthusiastically. Ivezho was the lost one, the wanderer, the one who had cast himself adrift from his home and neglected to return there, despite knowing the way. Ivezho had tried to make amends, for he did love his family, his brother, but he couldn't seem to let go of whatever it was that held him back from living…

A sound interrupted his musings. A sob, a cry, a sniffle. Long ears twisted atop his crown, as his viridian gaze sought out that which made the sounds. He was a kind stallion, first and foremost, he did not enjoy to see another suffer in sadness or misery, even if he suffered such things himself without aid from others.

He found the source of the sound.

She was dark, a reverse pattern to the pale, spotted, baroque stallion he had seen at the Meadow. Ivezho turned his body, the setting sun allowing the glow his magic gave off to become more apparent - he wondered, did this mare, this Glacia, recognise him as her lover's relative by their similar magics, their similar smiles and builds?

It was a foolish thing to wonder, for Ivezho only answered his own query the same way he answered everything he asked himself about his brother; the only thing she might recognise is that he is a far better stallion than I.

"Glacia," he murmured softly, recalling her name as the one his brother shouted after her retreating form. Perhaps he should have been more wary, more careful in his approach, for she was a pregnant mare, and crying besides; but maybe Ivezho was just a narcissist after all.

"I am Ivezho, Rhoa's brother.. I saw you.." he didn't know how to finish the sentence, but let it linger and fade into silence as he closed the gap. He wore an expression of genuine concern, his crown low as he paused his motion and silently asked if should would have him nearer (or further away) from herself.

"I just wanted to check how you're doing."


@Glacia

Ivezho

The mare throws words like daggers, and Ivezho physically twitches as the blows assault his ears.

She challenged him to call her crazy - and while she was behaving crazily, he didn't think she was actually crazy in the insane sense (for if one could point out their insanity as such, were they insane anymore?). He stayed silent, unwilling to even explain the truth of his thoughts, the disagreement he felt to her words (for fear of not being heard, or only making the situation worse), as the tension finally broke, as the tears began to dribble down her face, as she kept talking, only this time, the words were less like weapons and more like a floodwave of emotion expressed all at once.

Ivezho was sincerely glad he was a male at this point in time, and would never have to experience first-hand the ups and downs of pregnancy hormones ravaging his body.

The words she spoke rang familiar in his ears - because he himself had spoken similar tunes in recent times. Ivezho was familiar with this sense of unworthiness, this self-pity and disgust, he knew it so well that it was almost too easy for him to consider what she said almost normal - he had to remind himself that such thoughts weren't normal.

"I've only ever known my brother to give his time and attention to things that he finds worthy," and believe me, I know what it is to be unworthy in his eyes. He didn't speak his thoughts, for they were unnecessarily self-pitying - a habit he was trying to break in himself as much as in other people.

"He is good, and I don't believe he would've been with you if he thought anything less than that of you." He spoke honestly, simply, daring to take a step closer to her, even reaching out with a glowing wing and gently, carefully trying to proffer his feathers as a sort of towel for her to dry her face on - if she wanted that sort of comfort, anyway. "You've nothing to apologise for and nothing to feel unworthy about - at least in my eyes." He offered a small smile, before adding, "I trust in my brother's judgement, and so should you."

Ivezho

He was glad to see (what he considered) improvement in the mare's condition - he didn’t mind the wetness she wiped upon his feathers, mostly he appreciated that she had stopped shouting, and rambling, and crying. He didn't press his presence any closer to her - frankly, he was a little nervous for his own safety (she did have a horn that looked very capable of poking holes in him, after all), and so far everything he had heard about pregnant mares was proving to be quite true.

As she seemed to gather herself up to speak, Ivezho pressed his ears forward, and looked at her with interest - even if she devolved into mindless shouting and rambles again, he would listen. She meant something to his brother, and so, automatically, she meant something to him. It was an easy, brotherly sort of affection - only recently had he mended the relationship between he and Rhoa, and he simply wanted to continue to prove that he meant it, that he truly did want to be a part of his life.

The questions she asked brought up all the years of memories, of their time apart, of the hurt that the silence between them had caused. They were both to blame - Sohalia had taken him (- where? He still could not place it, perhaps that was why he hated to talk about it -), and upon his return, he thought his brother would want nothing to do with him, and so he had hid, run, diverted his eyes and missed the hurt he inflicted on his brother. And then Rhoa had mimicked him, reflected the silence, the hurt, so that both were left drowning in a deep desire to be in each other's lives but simply refusing to recognise it in each other.

"Rhoa and I.. Come from a large family tree," Ivezho began softly, a wry smile on his lips. "My mother had to leave suddenly when we were very young, Rhoa was away with father at the time, and I was with her so I went where she went." He paused, digesting the memories again, brows furrowing as he continued his tale. "When we came back, I didn't think he would want anything to do with me, so I hid from him, avoided him, and the rest of my siblings too." His gaze had drifted, and he moved it to hold her cool pools within his own vibrant green ones again.

"We both felt like the last of our line, the lone brother, during that time." A small, half-smile touched his lips, though the hurt of the memories still shone behind his eyes. "I'm glad he found you when he did." Ivezho had found friends, from before he left the Throat and newly found too - they had helped him (some in similar ways as Glacia had evidently helped Rhoa), and he would be forever grateful to them for their simple existence.

"He'd be a fool to turn you away," he said in response to her last words, curving a brow curiously as she so confidently identified the gender of the life growing within her. "I… You have me, should you ever need me, as a brother and uncle to the child that grows within you," he said it easily, with genuine earnest, bowing his crown slightly in attempts to express the honesty behind his words.

He had been a shit brother to all his siblings. Perhaps he would be a better uncle.