crash through the surface
where they can't hurt us

here is peace here, even as Winter enfolds the land with its chill, leaving frost upon blades of grass, an encrusted platform where her pale hooves crunch. With each limping step, she is drawn further and further into the heart of Illuster Meadow, progressing over each gradual rise and fall of the land; then she stops. Kitt finds herself soaking in the simple beauty of this day, watching the Sun make its slow climb. With a deep breath, she inhales the cold scent of the meadow, then breathes out that solid intake, hoping to send with it her worries of the day, the thoughts that brought her distress, doubt. Always some here lately, things she could not help but hold on to, things that clung against her conscience. Progress with this adaptation seemed slow, it was much to take in, much to learn, to be born from one species to the next; it was so far her greatest challenge.

Even the simplest of task had been a learning curve, eating, drinking, what one might have given to watch her attempt to lap water from a creek. Nothing is the same.

From above, a flock of birds takes her attention, those that did not migrate to warmer climates for the season; creatures she could admire for that. Even though things were tough, not as easy, they stuck it out- she wanted to be like them. I should try harder, she thought to herself as they paraded over her. Rouge had been a welcome friend, even if she was not the best at conveying it, even if he did not realize how thankful she was for him to find her that day. Along the river, lost in her own pain and confusion, but most of all, just simply lost. If the russet male had not approached her so, Gods know what might have befallen her, in light of everything, she was still working on finding her hope. The amount she once held, unphased and unburden by the chaos around her. It could be that today, was that day, but let us not get ahead of ourselves.

Though the grass was drying, yellowed and brittle, it was still what she needed to fill her belly. Lowering her bleached head to snag several clutches of nourishment, some sticking out of her pale mouth as she chewed in slow, deliberate bites. Even now she couldn’t quite wrap her head around that fact that it tasted good, that plant matter was filling and wholesome and divine. A sigh of satisfaction takes her, amber eyes looking over the clearing, abandoned of the bright flowers that once grew, but not abandoned of bodies. The colored forms of her Kingdom mates could be seen in the distance, moving with intent, or congregating in small groups. The intent of the day was to gather supplies, plants that could be useful, why does she feel like she’s frozen then?

Several times she though to approach them, introduce herself with a smile, give her name as cheerfully as she had back home. Such bravery and confidence was hard to follow through with, so she remains still, an onlooker.

crash through the surface
where they can't hurt us

itt just stands there, looking out across the meadow between flowing tresses of silver hair, out across the gentle rolls of drying grasses and frost that still adheres to the terrain in the morning light. Her breath hangs on the pristine paleness of her lips, clinging to the fine whiskers before rolling away to meet the breeze, cast away to whisper between the blades and seek purchase in the conversation of the far off trees. Everything is alive, even as Winter takes hold, folds a blanket of stillness upon the world until it slows, patient and waiting for Spring. It makes her thankful for this moment, stuck in her own thoughts, about life and renewal, she has been uncharacteristically selfish in the weeks gone by.

This was merely another chapter, another page of blackened ink scrawled upon tinted parchment.

“I’ve been so petulant,” she tells herself softly, watching the movement of those that gather, allowing a tender smile to curve against her jaw. Then a  jerking movement takes her, as though she meant to move but something held her back, she wanted to belong here, even if she must find a niche as a long-face. Even if that meant she was no longer a wolf, a thing that still wanted out, settled against her subconscious, tucked far away in her memories. The wolf was there, pacing within her being, knowing that it was caged and feeling disoriented at the realization.

Somewhere, she was still somewhere.

It is now that she takes another breath, though this time to steady herself, to prepare to meet these strangers, but come to find out, she doesn’t have to make the first move.

He is all she is not in appearance, darkest night, blackest smoke. Wings curl against his back, she had always been in awe of those that fly, entranced by the delicate feathers of their flight and impressed by their aerial prowess. She was no graceful thing, and as he walks, she takes him for less coordinated on the ground, this makes her chuckle, a quiet coo. Reckitt herself held no grace as she moved, the limp In her right leg made certain of that, it was her weakness, it was her strength. An unassuming creature, often not taken seriously, often underestimated, her bursts of heroism coming from within- mostly words, forever actions. Nothing of the sword sort.

A greeting interrupts the silence, she could not be troubled by it, in fact, it was a relief.

“Hello,” she returns softly, taking in his display of a wave, “there is much on my mind, enough to fill books,” musing thoughtfully as she speaks. “In truth I am foraging for the Kingdom, Culver’s Root, do you know it?”  It was an elegant plant, growing tall and flowered,  in white spikes of blooms.

crash through the surface
where they can't hurt us

f she knew more of him, she would be inclined to say it was luck that they had met, or perhaps it was more a hand of fate. A gentle coaxing of the Winter wind, brushing them both into the presence of one another, lending assistance to our dear woman who could surely use more friends. While Mateo was the noisy sort, boundless energy in forms of speech or song, Reckitt was a quiet being. A listener, an intent ear to those that might need one, and she did enjoy a good story, a melodic song or string of poetry. Truth be told, she could even manage to express elation at bad chorus or misshapen haikus, she tends to encourage others to continue growing their art, practice makes perfect.  

They could not be more different, if she truly knew him.

Kitt was the Omega of her pack, something that felt like lifetimes ago. Even if it was, come to think of it, and at that her face takes on a quizzical mask, contemplating her own revelations- but only for a moment, a fading breath. The pale horse had been subjected to pain, discipline, at the hands of her own kind and had still managed to be the one to instigate play, the one who cared for them in their time of need. The one to see them to the end, if that is what was required of her, and she did so with grace, left them with their dignity. Was she honestly at the bottom?

“Do you know it?” she asks him, eyes like torches, golden against her silver face. He does, though if he didn’t she would not have retracted her invitation to forage, smiling as he pressed his lips to a plant of similar features. “Perhaps this one,” she places her own whiskered chin to another, there was no need for a scene of correction, it was like a gentle tug of his eyes to the appropriate green, he could do what he would with the information. Before loosing the plant, Kitt begins whispering unintelligibly, a chant, a prayer, a thanks, before releasing the foliage from the earth. Everything from the Earth was a gift, she did not pull flowers from their beds on a whim, always taking what she needed, and only what she would use.

There is surprise on her face now, a sudden onset of being caught off guard as she tucks the Culver’s Root into her satchel. He asks a question she was not prepared to answer, maybe she pauses too long now, maybe she looks away as she thinks on the answer, uncertain what something like that would even be- what shape it would take if it were to be put into words. “I’ve never been asked that before,” she offers, still searching for an appropriate title, something that would encompass Her.

“I would think-” she still is not convinced of her choosing, there are so many things that stick out in her mind, so many options and roads she might take, paths she might stray to along the way.

“I would call it, ‘The spaces we breathe’,..for those times that we exist without speech but still have so much going on, within.”

If there was any embarrassment about her choice, it did not show, she had contemplated in that short space, a proper name for such a novel. There was only her soft smile afterwards, the bright gold of her eyes that reflected the shine of the Winter sun, there was only the space of quiet when she finished; until there wasn’t.

“I’m so sorry, my name is Reckitt, and you?”

crash through the surface
where they can't hurt us

o easily had her manners gone forgotten, slipped away from her as she stood there perplexed with naming her own thoughts, a slight blush rises to her cheeks; staining them with a muted flush. Kitt turns her head away, the curtain of her mane helping to alleviate her own embarrassment from what she would consider, a transgression. This world had her all mixed up- she wasn’t herself. The shame of almost forgetting an introduction was minor to most, and to be truthful, it was mild in comparison to the way she stumbled over her own hooves, she sighs, thankful this day was not one of those days. 

Everything goes still as their gathering continues, Kitt lost in thought, Mateo almost unnervingly quiet. Could she tell him the words she speaks, the chants she tells the roots as she carries on with her task,  releasing each plant from the Earth, would she?

Perhaps one day she would, but today is not that day, Kitt did not know him well, nor he her. 

“This plant?” Repeating Mateo’s question, busying herself with her own sort of listening, almost as though the rush of cool wind through the length of wildflowers, made it possible for them to have things to tell her themselves. “This can help with liver disorders, can,” she makes sure to put emphasis on that word. “It must be prepared correctly, carefully, or else well, you may as well be poisoning your patient.” There was a finality in the last words that left her diamond lips, a seriousness in her tone as she spoke them.

The pale mare prepared all of her mixtures with much the same care as a Mother would a meal, imbuing her salves with love. Careful, ready hands, she knew no different.

“Don’t worry though, I promise to be very careful,” as if he might need convincing, she might not seem like the most steady of creatures if he’s seen her around, stumbling or tripping over herself, but there’s a certain composure that overcomes her when her talents are exercised. A calmness, she’s in her element, doing what she loves.

Mateo he is called, she nods, dipping her ashen head in greeting, saving his namesake for later. It made her wish she knew more of them, the people here, the Kingdom; it was her home now wasn’t it? They were her family now, Rouge and Mateo, she wished to build on that.

“I am new,” a nod of affirmation, “I like your wings, Mateo.” A smile creeps up her lips, alabaster velvet, she portrays sincerity in her smirk, a joyousness. “Are you also a caretaker here?, I mean- Medic, that’s what we’re called here, isn’t it?” What we are called here, a small hint that not only is she new to Dawn Court, but she is new to Novus itself.