Even as Orangemoon has begun to chip away at the temperature in Helovia at large, Aisling still found herself moving northward. It wasn't a carefully thought out strategy, but the hardy little mare wasn’t bothered by the early snows and her wanderlust kept her for sticking anywhere long enough. It was a coming strategy, and though she refused to see it, her constant travel was a distraction from the fact that she’d yet to find any friends in this land who found her worthwhile enough to try and convince her to stick around. Some days were better than others (often she would mope all day or loose herself in sad old songs) but today she’d been able to sufficiently distract herself to nearly bring her back to her old self. 

It was the novelty of an unexplored piece of Helovia that did it, new places had always been fun. This northern expanse of white seemed so untouched and with the sun high in the sky everything seemed to glitter and shine. On her short little legs, Aisling had moved along the lower veins and valleys of the rocky hills for most of the morning before challenging herself to a climb of one of the higher peaks. The exertion had left her breathless but exhilarated and, more lighthearted than she had been in a long time, the faerie gave herself over to the joy of play. The had whistled along with the wind, spun with the swirling dervishes of snow, and now she stood atop a crest that sloped downward in a smooth face covered in a blanket of untouched snow. She wiggled with the anticipation and then with a running start took the plunge down the steep face. She slid down the incline, kicking up a trench of glittering snow and shrieking with delighted laughter. Whenever came tomorrow, this was a fantastic day and she’d enjoy it.

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@Johnny

There can be great allowances made in any practical safety concerns in the name of enjoying oneself, but if truth be told, the faerie girl was being incredibly reckless. Aisling tore down the hill at a breakneck pace, braid and ribbons streaming out behind her. She was sliding on the drifts as much as scampering under her own powers of mobility, and nowhere in her mind did she entertain the idea of abandoning her snowy pursuits in favor of such a petty consideration as personal safety. It was perfectly thrilling and what was life worth without a bit of thrill?

Above her own laughter and the rush of wind and snow, it might have been possible to miss Johnny's shouted greeting but it was not possible to miss Johnny. The perfectly-sized stallion burst into her field of vision; a joyful streak of red and white bounding across the slopes toward her, all perfect compliments and good cheer. Their meeting in the thistle meadow had been painfully short but it stood out as one of, if not the, most delightful interludes she had had in months. "Johnny!" The shout was euphoric, carried on a crest of laughter and accompanied by smile bright as sunshine.

The smile, however, was short lived and the little mare's face went wide eyed and a bit panicked. Johnny had taken one leap too far and moved directly into her path. Aisling tried to put on the brakes but as perfect as the snow had been for sliding it was equally as wretched for stoping. Her descent turned dramatically into a skid and she barely had time to squeal in fright before she crashed magnificently into the solid wall of sugar coated stallion. The fairy girl tumbled into the fluffy mound of snow beyond (quite possibly with or on top of Johnny) and landed with an "Oof!" On her back, limbs akimbo. Out of the mess of pony and fluffy white powder, Aisling managed to raise her head, already trying and failing to suppress a fresh case of the giggles "Oh heavens I am so sorry! I couldn'a seem to stop! Are ye' alright?!"

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@Johnny

Oh it had been ages since she'd had a reason to smile this big, and little Aisling had always been and expert at finding reasons to smile. "You are well worth the collision, my dear!”...Oh isn't he a wicked charmer! Her eyes positively sparkled with delight and she let go of the laugh, letting it ring over the snowy landscape. This really was a wonderland, made complete with the joy of finding Johnny here. Their all-too-brief first meeting had been a charming one, under the stars, but not nearly so much fun.

If horses could blush Aisling would have when he looked back at her. His eyes were such a lovely green, bright as the sweet spring grass in Érie, and to have them look at her was enough to make her foolish little heart race like a rabbit's. "Aye, I have years of experience, though the snows back on Érie were never so generous as this." Indeed she'd never seen mountains so high or snow so soft and in such quantities. "I've never been to these slopes before but am well pleased to have found them. I'm sure glad you were here or I might have slid right down to the bay! And what of you, Johnny dear? I would have thought to find you somewhere charming a whole herd of ladies." It was said with a teasing smirk, but not too far from the truth. He seemed far too social to bee seeking the solitude of the mountains, but then again she usually was too.

She let her head fall back into the cushion of snow with a sigh and was perfectly content to sit here, upside down in the snow, beside him as if they'd known each other for more than a few passing minutes. There was a pleasant briskness in the air, and she breathed it in greedily before realizing it wasn't only the fresh scent of snow gracing her nostrils. Hesitantly, she turned her nose closer to the stallion's shoulder and sniffed before breaking into a hearty laugh. She recognised she sweet smell from one of the many herbs her mother had used in her healing brews. "Johnny, have you been rolling in an herb bed? Why on earth do you smell of peppermint?"

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@Johnny

Ah, so there was a northern herd! Aisling had heard mention of one a time or two, but it seems that Johnny would be the first she had met of that tribe. She had thought quite a bit on the social organization of Helovia as of late, wondering vaguely if one of the herds might make a pleasent change. True, she had always had a case of the wandering hooves, but the lack of social interaction when one wandered alone was starting to become more tiresome than he imagined staying in one place for a while would be. She had the Whatch, but a secret society was not so apt to fill the void that a lack of friendship of family left behind.  Maybe this Basin would be worth a visit if Johnny would be there to greet her.

He was such a merry one, and a wonder for how easily he brought a smile to her face. Happiness and good cheer shone from him and  made everything around brighter. And such sillyness, she thought when her declared himself to be made of peppermint. She giggled, giddy as a filly at the mirthful pronouncement and let herself roll to her side so she could reach a hoof to push playfully at his side. “Faith! I’ve never heard such foolishness! Made of peppermint…” she rolled her eyes when he flicked over his tail and offered a taste.

Rolling onto her belly, she scooted right up next to him, not to taste his tail but to bring herself along so she could look down at him. “Now, you flick your tail at girls like that and your going to get it pulled one of these days.” The efficacy of her scolding was greatly diminished by the playful grin. To illustrate her point she reached down to tug at the little stallion’s mane, taking a lock near the middle and giving it a soft tug. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open in surprise, dropping the tendrils that did indeed taste like sweet sprigs of candy floss. For a moment she was speechless, all astonishment before closing her eyes and bashfully tucking her face into her chest, to muffle yet another fit of giggles.

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@Johnny

She felt his nudge, heard his own laughter join hers, and allowed herself to peek up at him through her forelock. The Candyman rolled in the snow, the perfect picture of enthusiastic,happiness and the best thing was that she was there to share in it with him.What a happy chance this was… she thought as her giggles trailed off into an indulgent sigh; …a blessing of fate that we should both be on the same hill on the same day! Aisling had always been able to find the little bits of joy in any situation, but had it ever been easier that this? Had anyone ever been so quick to smile as he? Had anyone been so quick to make her laugh?

”Watch for flatterers, my love, they’re born to speak all mirth and no matter.” her mother had said that once, and it came to the mare’s mind unbidden and for a flickering instant a shadow crossed her face. Kvothe was quick to laugh and Finn was sweet, but they both left me. and that fact had built itself into the little wall around her heart. It wasn’t yet high enough to shut out the world, to close off possibility, and Aisling was still enough of an optimist to leap right over it but it was enough to give her pause before she let her heart go traipsing off again.

But then Johnny asked for a story, and the faerie beamed at him honest adoration. “You already know me too well, next you’ll ask for a song! But aye, I’ll tell you my favorite…” It was the perfect setting for a story, a perfect moment; they were already hunkered down, comfortable in the snow and one another’s company and it was the most natural thing in the world for her to slip into an old tale she knew well, one that had been passed down for generations.

“Many a year ago there lived a pegasus named Tristan. Now, he was the nephew to King of Corné who had raised him from a colt and loved him as his own son.” her voice always had the lilting quality of her homeland, but as the fell into the rhythm of the tale it became richer, pulling out the musical inflection and hitting each familiar beat. “When he was grown, this Tristan became the most valiant and skilled knight in that kingdom and to often led his uncle’s  army and acted as his champion. One day, the King of Érie—the kingdom across the water—sent his champion Morholt to Corné to demand fealty and tribute, and it was Tristan that met him to do battle. The champions met over the water that divided their lands, two of the greatest fighters in all of legend, and each fought with a marvelous strength. Tristan was victorious, slaying Morholt and defending the freedom of his country, but he was grievously injured and fell into the sea below”

“Weak and close to death, he washed up upon the sand of Érie’s coast and there was found by the most beautiful maiden her had ever seen. Gold she was, from head to toe with eyes of deepest green and he fell madly in love with her on sight. She did not tell him her name, but she was learned in the healing arts and so bound his wound with the golden ribbon from her hair and bid him rest, singing him to sleep with the sweetest of voices. When he slept the women wept, for she had fallen in love with him as well but knew she could not stay so she kissed him upon his brow and stole away into the night. He awoke the next morning to find himself healed but there was no trace of the maiden save for the golden ribbon. Saddened by this loss, but ever dutiful, he returned home to his country and his King.” She paused for a few slow breaths and let the first part of her tale hang in the air.

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ooc:: Wooooo twist on Tristan and Isolde! It got really long so here's the first bit <33
@Johnny

At home and comfortable in the role of storyteller, Aisling should have been perfectly content and well relaxed through out the tale, especially considering was a perfect audience Johnny was—he gasped when we was supposed to and when she pauses he is quick to ask for the rest— but she was anything but relaxed. It came on slowly, starting when he had scooched himself right up next to her, the little hum of electricity in the points of her side where they almost touch, a little pitter patter in her heart that threatens to make her breath hitch every now and then. It had been almost too much for her when he bent down to nudge at her braid; like her little ribbon could be compared to one of shimmering gold, like she could be compared to the legendary beauty of the woman in the story. It had been lucky that the awkwardness of the movement had for a moment taken her eyes from her face, and he hadn’t seen her eyes slide closed for a moment. She hoped he hadn’t noticed in that sliver of a moment she’d held her breath.

The little faerie only smiled and continued her story, hoping the familiarity would calm her. “Near a year later, the Queen of Corné passed, leaving the king no heir and so he knew he must marry again. Now on peaceful terms with the land across the sea, he sent a message to the King of Érie, who had a daughter called Isolde, famed far and wide for her beauty and virtue. As it happens, this was not the only offer of marriage for the princess and so her father declared that there should be a tournament for her hand and invited the Kings and Princes of the neighboring kingdoms to compete.

Now the King of Corné was an old man at this point, and so when he travelled to the tourney he brought Tristan with him to be his champion. They arrived in Érie the day before the tournament was to begin and along with the rest of the visiting nobility were invited to attend the feast that evening. There only as a duty to his uncle, Tristan had no wish to join in the revels but was pressed into dancing by a few of his other companions, deciding it was easier to dance and be dissatisfied with it than to find an excuse other than his true one, which he’d told no one—that though some of the prettiest mares in all the world were there, he would rather look at none, for his heart was already claimed. He moved through the dance, passing desultorily from partner to partner until he looked up to find the next was the golden maiden who had saved him; this was the Princess Isolde.

They danced together, gazing with love in their eyes plain enough for all to see but both were speechless: she with joy for she thought he was there to fight for her hand, he with despair for though he was their to fight it was not him who she would wed if he prevailed. That night he went to his uncle and fell at his feet. For all the love he bore him, Tristan could not be his champion on the morn. The king raged, disowning Tristan and stripping him of the armor and arms he had given him and sent him away.

The next morning all gathered for the tournament, Isolde watching with her father as he presided over the ceremonies. Kings and Princes from many kingdoms were there, all resplendent in the finest armor but none made her heart beat wild with love save Tristan. He appeared, unarmored and unarmed wearing only a single gold ribbon about his neck, before the King of Érie to beg leave to enter the tourney. He was no prince, but his boldness amused the King of Érie and so allowed it, laughing at the ribbon; Tristan merely smiled and so the tournament began. The fighting was brutal, each match leaving its fighters nursing wounds but through each encounter Tristan remained unscathed, defeating all other entrants and by rights winning the hand of of his love.

Tristan’s Uncles was furious, and returned to Corné, which to this day remains a sworn enemy of Érie. Isolde's father remained true to his word and granted her hand to the winner of his tournament. Tristan and Isolde were married the next morning, and so lived together in Érie surrounded with love and happiness for the rest of their days.”

She ended the tale in her dreamy way, engrossed in the beauty of the story and thinking, as she always did, how wonderful it would be to find that kind of love fore herself. The beauty of that drifting though left a smile on her face as her eyes drifted out over the snow, not really seeing the mounds of white but reaching for something far less tangible; the drifted down and found only a deep, emerald green.

It was different than the rush she’d felt with the stallion at the Rotunda, the excitement that had come with a shimmer of fear. This was quieter, gentler, and infinitely sweeter and it trickled through the little mare as she sat captured by the stallion’s lovely eyes. For a moment it might as well have been high summer for the warmth that blossomed through her, as as a steadfast romantic, Aisling was sure she much preferred this kind of feeling over the other. She moved her face, leaning in fractionally closer, swept up in her own fuzzy, floaty dreams before she realized what she was doing.

In a panic the little mare jolted to her feet, flushing with embarrassment and resisting the urge to flat-out run away. “Tá mé chomh-brón orm, ní raibh mé chiallaíonn—“ She started to stammer in her old tongue as she dither ed several feet away, dancing on toes like it were coal she stood on and not snow. How silly you are, Aisling, how foolish! “I mean, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to talk so long. You most have somewhere to be! I just… I mean I’ll just…” she couldn’t quite meet his eyes, and her little stormy seers darted everywhere. She couldn’t quite catch her breath either and she still couldn’t pin down what those fluttery feelings in her stomach were, or why she had gone from being so relaxed when they had first tumbled into the snow together to this jittery, jumpy mess.

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ooc:: @Johnny Sorry again for the wait.

Aisling had always loved stories; from the time she was a wee lass and had sat at her mother’s feet to listen. Her mother would work tirelessly, prepping herbs and other ingredients for her remedies and all the while the old healer had spun golden tales on wheels of fancy in order to keep the spritely little filly entertained and out of her way. Both Aisling and her mother had possessed an affinity for telling the old legends, but though her mother been of the opinion that tales were a harmless joy best left to the realm of fiction, little Aisling had set her heart on living them out. She had spent all the years of her childhood under the impression that she was destined to live out the magical narratives. The girl had left home to seek them out, had wished day in and day out that she would waltz into one and now it seemed that she had.

”Wait!"

Johnny was up now and he moved towards her. She saw the movement on the edges of her vision because she could not bring herself to look at him. If horses could blush, she would have been beet red. His feet, her feet, the impressions in the snow where they had been, her eyes moved between them in rapid succession. Don’t look at his face, don’t give him the chance to say it, to say how foolish you look. Aisling was so frightened, it was almost enough to make her wish she were back home again.

Just moments ago it had had felt like she always imagined it would, hoped it would. The glittering snow, the unexpected meeting, the charming man with a lovely smile; all the makings of her own little fairytale; love at first sight and all the trimmings. Isn’t that what she wanted? Isn’t that what she was meant to find?  

“Was it something I did?!”

No, Johnny, it’s not you, it’s me! Can’t you see how silly I am, how childish? Can’t you see? I don’t deserve to be here. All the things she wanted to say crammed together on her tongue, all trying to be the first out until her mouth was so full not a one could pass her lips. Her breath hitched in her throat, the kind of sound that threatened tears but she shut here eyes tight to hold them back as well. All that she could manage was a slow shake of her head No Johnny, it’s not you. You seem so wonderful.

She trembled now, little quakes that ran from her head to her hooves, sending messages to those hooves to run because, though this might have been the fairytale setting, it was she who did not belong. Beautiful stories deserved beautiful heroines, and Aisling could never hope to match up to that legendary pantheon. She was no Isolde, her insecurities hissed at her, she was not fair enough, or wise enough, or good enough to be counted in such company. If this was a story, silly little Aisling would be a fool to think that her name should grace the page.

“My dear Aisling there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here.”

That stopped her. Those lovely words and the lovely way that he said them. All honesty, no guile, and made all the sweeter because of how badly she wanted to believe it. She stilled and let them wrap around her in a comforting embrace. Her little hooves stopped shuffling, her limbs quit jerking, her breath didn’t catch but held and the nervous shakes began to ease and fade away.

Moments passed as slow as hours and at each second she was so sure he would turn away, so sure he would scorn her for acting like such a mess. He did not, and somehow (though she could not fathom why) he was reaching out for her. When she looked up—finally overcame those insecurities by some titanic feat either curiosity or spit-to-the-wind-stupid optimism and looked up—the green that had pulled her in held fast. Green; that blessed bright and happy color. It was everything that was warm and familiar, everything that was already so dear to her heart. How could she turn away from that? He reached forward and, stunned into stillness, she did not shy away. The pink velvet of his muzzle pressed cautiously into the grey of hers. Aisling all but melted. 

The breath she had been holding came out in a sigh of pure relief. With a heart that clung so tightly to fantasy, Aisling had never once considered the possibility that such a devotion might betray her. She had lived in the clouds so long and suddenly been brought down to earth only to discover that the world as it really was (or at least seemed, now, to be) was infinitely preferable. But here she was, standing with him, and even though she hadn’t acted the part of the proper heroine, here was a hero, reaching out to her, weather she deserved it or not. That was her reality.

Immeasurably touched, irrevocably unsure, she let herself lean into the touch, brushing the length of her cheek against that velvety point of contact. How could a touch be so grounding, so comforting? She’d embraced so many in countless casual ways but the feeling intros moment of Johnny’s face so close to hers was anything but casual.

It was vital, or so Aisling felt. If it was broken he might disappear and she would be left  to awaken from a dizzy daydream, alone again and lost in the snow. That thought, that fear, spurred her on and she took a step forward. Her head lowered to tuck itself against his neck and there her errant lips pulled once again at his minty mane as if to tug him closer. She didn’t speak, but he might have heard her desperate plea that her body made: a request she didn’t really understand. Come closer. Stay here. Please don’t abandon me, don’t say I’m not good enough.

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@Johnny