By dawn's early light Maerys arrived, the sun opening up like a perennial on the skyline, rising to grant those petals of auburn to heat the forest - blade, limb, and root. The heavens were a symphony of light morphing from an onyx atmosphere as if twilight and daylight had matured into one lovely moment. This impressive spectacle came with a silvery hush- dawn had arrived.

Greystone rose from the land, unapologetic and bold to defy entrance and protect what lived in the halls of the ancient construction. These castle walls seemed impenetrable, bastions of protection and glory as they had been for eons. At the base of the intricate palace, below the thick layer of snow and frost, are arrowheads and hilts of broken swords and armor that had been used well. The snow-ridden forest enveloping the lands next to the edifice has seen centuries whisk past on the winds of each season and beheld the folly of Dawn Court's struggles. 

Maerys' gaze caught sight of the river in the distance, appearing still, yet flowing under the thinnest of ice, awaiting the gentle touch of the sun. Though the air bared only the coldness of winter and the ground was frozen once more, the ice glittered with the swell each nascent ray. 

As the wintry confetti descended from the heaven, dotting Maerys' spine like powdered sugar, the realization that this was home for the mare now set in. With a steady stride, Maerys travels towards the entrance, her mauve centers pitching to and fro hunting for other inhabitants. If this was to be her people those to depend on and esteem- she'd savor engaging with them as speedily as possible.

IT WASN'T ABOUT PRAYING TO THE GOD YOU BELIEVE IN

 

The child that marched forth was scanty, the union of youth and stature to create... meager. His knees were large as if waiting for his body to mature and develop into them, though Maerys innocently questioned if that would ever happen. Perhaps it was the awkward bulge of his moderately stunted body or the general shortness of his stature that made her believe he wasn't ever going to look conformationally correct. Regardless of what his build looked like, the lad was impressively lovable. His cinnamon and cedar complexion complimented the duality of his optics and the chrome marking blanketing a substantial share of his profile and fetlocks. At his side was a russet fox- a myriad of crimson, onyx, and cream.

When the child spoke it was fluid and even unlike what the mare awaited. It was conceivable that she underestimated his age by a few months as she had fully expected a toddler-lisp and broken diction. He was clearly no baby after all- his chops were most likely not all gum and his snout wasn't stained with milk residue nor snot. His debut is uncomplicated as it is merely a salutation followed by inquisition and ending with the contribution of his title and his fox's.

"Yes, 'tis most lovely this morrow," she offers after only a brief pause. Her voice is sweet and gentle, honeyed in tone and hushed in volume. "Ah, I am new- a stranger at meetest." Her mauve eyes swing briefly to the fox before once more settling on the boy. She was certain he'd know her to be foreign, her pronunciation different than his in numerous ways. Be it the even, unemphasized words or the steady rhythm the syllables fell from her velvet lips, the tone Maerys took contrasted greatly with the boy's own speech pattern. "I am Maerys, a soldier here." 

It was unusual to the girl that she would face such a young fellow alone so early in the morn. Her wonder bubbled as she considered what he could be doing. Though she knew little (essentially nothing) of these lands, she assumed it was hazardous to roam alone at unearthly hours with only a fox as protection. 

"Say to me, little one, why are thou alone?" Her question is inoffensive, a softly vocalized inquiry solely charged out of interest. "There are many hours in one day, why venture so early?" The question hangs unthreateningly in the air as she awaits an answer.

@Regis

IT WASN'T ABOUT PRAYING TO THE GOD YOU BELIEVE IN

 
Maerys was curious about his mother who was also in the warrior rankings. Did she fight like the devil, fully devoid of sympathy? Did she crush and slaughter her foes? At the end of it all, when the mighty red sun rose above the horizon, did she walk away mercilessly letting her defeated enemies rot? Imagination was painful and tiresome, but so addicting to the fae. She wondered tirelessly about the infinite possibilities in her universe. In moments like these, her imagination painted horrendous images of war and loss in her mind, her thoughts narrating each image with unrivaled allegiance. It was peculiar... the injury you could conjure up from just a mere thought. "I shouldst knoweth mine own allies," she mused out loud, her voice cutting deeply through the images of blood and battle. "I shall searcheth for her a different eve." A meager simper morphs her lips as she speaks to the lad. Her tongue was that of bells, more suitable than bird tune, both heartfelt yet resolute. Though her tone rivaled the excellence of a fiddle, there was something uncomplicated about it (conceivably that's what made it so distinctly beautiful).

He mentioned Milo once more, his faithful companion, before admitting his desire to fly accurately and skillfully. Though grievously mediocre right now, Maerys could distinctly see his eagerness and devotion to the skill and heeded that one dawn in the future he would be a magnificent flier (though she did momentarily question if his stunted state would bar him from ever moving correctly in the heavens). Her mauve eyes flick upwards, regarding the swiftly ascending sun and the wintry vapors that dapple the sky. Between these clouds that promised snowfall was a quickly morphing atmosphere- from twilight to daylight. She did not, nor would she ever, know the feeling of the zephyr below her feathered appendages. She would never fly with the birds that raced and tweeted from their high altitude. She would never know the weight of wings at her side. Her hooves were made to travel quickly and briskly on the ground. She could cover the uneven ground, swamp to desert, with a great loping gait as if her ankles were made of tightly coiled springs rather than sinew and bone. From any perspective, it was clear the girl was born not to fly but to run. "I wouldst offer to teachest thee, but it wouldst not help thee much," she sighed before shifting slightly to expose her bare flank and noticeable lack of wings. "And I'm sure thou art not untalented, thou art still learning. Thee shall be a bird soon."

The boy's admittance that he spends his vacant time after schoolings with his sister heats Maerys's core. With such a tumultuous upbringing, Maerys never really had a family and regrets that she never had the opportunity to spend more time with her parents before their untimely passing. She wants to preach to the boy to never take those he loves for granted for they could be gone in a single breath, but she saves her tongue for what use would a child lecturing a child be? She was believed she was wiser than him by a fraction, but not enough to instill sage advice in him. "Sounds like a most wondrous afternoon."

The boy, though so young, was intelligent and well-spoken (better than Maerys!). She felt as if she was speaking to someone her own age rather than this meager boy. His intellect was palpable when he spoke, addressed, inquired, responded, everything. "Perhaps thee couldst giveth me a tour of the grounds? Or if't be true thee'd rather practice now than acquaint me with the area, mayhaps another eve?" The offer was simplistic and candid. If Regis would prefer training and adhere to his agenda, Maerys would fully understand. If he however didn't mind, she would love to see what the land has to offer with him- a tour from the Dawn prince himself (though she didn't know that quite yet).


@Regis absolutely so sorry for the wait <3 had to move out of my dorm for the summer & took a bit of my time

IT WASN'T ABOUT PRAYING TO THE GOD YOU BELIEVE IN