[P] Wind and Water

[Vadim]

It had happened suddenly, as these things often do in the desert.  He had been drowsing in the heat of the midday sun, only barely awake, when a shadow had fallen over him.  Then he smelled it.  The sharp ozone and dust smell of sand driven hard before the wind.  The kind of storm that created life, and stole it away.  The white masked head lifted quickly, all trace of weariness lost.  Energy animated his body as if struck by lightning, limbs dancing and throwing up sand with his small, round hooves.  The wall of sand drove closer and he finally turned from the glory of it and fled.  His limbs stretched out in a wild dance, chased before the wind like the first horses of Veter.  This was not, of course, the Veter Wind.  It was a cousin to it though and he could feel it in his bones as if it would seize him and carry him before it as though he was little more than dust.

He stumbled at the edge of a rise, nearly falling disastrously down a sudden spill of sand skirting the edge of rocky columns.  His legs flailed for balance and his head tossed.  Eyes wild and white he managed to check his momentum with a surprisingly graceful curvette to the side.  A few more quick strides took him into the lee of the rocks near the waterfall that sprang like blood from a wound in the desert.  He had not been here before.  

Though shrouded in shadow, there was a surprisingly lush beauty to the place.  A tiny paradise hidden in the desert.  This, he wondered, was this the true heart of Solterra?  Not the crumbling walls and claustrophobic courts, but this?  The spring that fed it's life's blood to the desert and created a place to feed and rest and shelter.  

The stallion sidled closer to the waterfall and closer to the rock face, glad for the reprieve from the sandstorm.  His skin shivered, the grains of sand driven under the fine hairs of his coat uncomfortable.  They turned the golden hide into a dusty yellow, and dimmed the brightness of his white face.  Sand was all-consuming.  It wanted everything to be like itself and so it tried to change you to be like it, or to bury you if it couldn't.

One striped hoof stamped the sandy ground, then he lowered his head to drink.  The energy of the storm had not left him.  Not while it raged around him like this.  But it had abated, leaving him shivering in his own skin and restless but smart enough to wait for it to pass.

@Bexley

[Bexley]

BEXLEY BRIAR

---

For all her bitterness, Bexley is still good at heart, and that nagging thought in the back of her head is what causes her to seek out the stranger that she’d practically bitten at the Solterran planting job, hoping to right the obnoxiousness of her first impression. She’s sharp, sure - that razor tongue and unabashed confidence has felled many a stranger upon meeting - but usually not so sharp as that day, the poor boy. Upon complaining about the whole thing to Eden, Bexley finally realized how ridiculous it was, her wild overreaction. It seems Maxence brings out the worst in her. And, to her credit, Bex is always better one-on-one than in a group. All this has roused her from her usual afternoon nap to find him and reintroduce herself. Whether the man accepts her apology doesn’t really matter; Bexley will still thrive, as she has been. Only out of the goodness of her heart does she seek out the newcomer.

Following the trail of one of Solterra’s frequent sandstorm, she winds her way over the dunes to the Oasis. It’s only her best guess. Hordes of Solterrans are always found around the lake, bathing or drinking from their homeland’s only source of water, and on a day like this it seems the only natural progression - Bexley herself would have been headed there anyway. 

 It’s a  track she’s traveled many times, and Bex trots across it with a sure step, bleached hooves scraping the dirt, silver-blonde curls bumping against each curve of the princess’ body as she moves. A wild shape does she makes against the smoky sky, confident and quick. The heart of Solterra appears after only a matter of minutes at that rapid pace, and just as she expected, there he is, the pariah - drinking with his head bent to the water, a picture of solicitude under the wavering shadows of the date palms that bend overhead. Bexley grits her teeth. This is not her ideal way to be spending a beautiful afternoon, but now that she’s here, what use is it quitting?

Hi. She sidles up behind him, slowing to a crawl. Bright blue eyes shift to look the man up and down in one quick flash, then still, grazing the horizon as she comes to a stop on the bank. I’m Bexley - usually not as much of a bitch as I look - with that an unamused smile crosses her face, not at all reaching her eyes. Congrats on finding this place.

---

@vadim <3

[Vadim]

Physically, the two of them were at once similar and wildly dissimilar.   She, all softness and femininity.  Gold as gilt and surrounded by her froth of curls.  He, all sharp angles and sparseness.  He lifted his dripping muzzle from the water to study her with more curiosity than bitterness, though his ears swung back a little uncertainly.  Then they tilted forward as she spoke.  She looked good framed against the sky like that and he wondered briefly if she knew.  Did she do it on purpose?  Or did she just have the unconscious awareness of the way eyes fell on her?  Still he didn't make her wait long for a response.  An easy, warm smile of his own answered hers.

"I am Vadim.  As important as they are, I try not to be wed to first impressions."  The golden stallion tilted his head a little to one side, rose line nostrils flaring as he drew in the scent of the desert air and the mare.  "Everyone has their days.  This place is beautiful."  Pale eyes turned away from her and he pivoted a little so he was on angle to her, gaze sweeping across the oasis and farther.  At the desert.  Then tilting his head back to let the golden sun pour over his face as the sky finished clearing.  His pale tale whipped back and forth in a slow, lazy fashion.  His attention wandered back to Bexley relatively quickly though and he danced a little in place.  

He took a few steps forward, then hesitated.  As though not certain of his welcome by this other golden equine.  The maneless stallion fixed his gaze back on her and finally let some of the questions that had built up and up and up since his arrival.  "Are you native here?  Who built the court?  Why is reverence of Solis so important?  Did he create this place?  Is he an important ancestor?"  

His questions stuttered to a halt.  He hadn't really meant to ask so many all at once but it was a relief to have been approached by someone and to engage in conversation.  Still, his nostrils flushed darker in his embarrassment and he turned his head aside a little.

@Bexley

[Bexley]

BEXLEY BRIAR

---

There is still something strange about interacting with a man who is practically her mirror reflection, but Bexley has practice controlling her feelings, and with a few blinks to regain herself, she manages to wrap up her hostility and push it away for later. Let fucking Maxence or Avdotya deal with that - this stranger has done nothing to deserve her wrath, at least not yet. 

Against the weight of his stare, as he looks her up and down, Bex does not flinch. In fact, she imperceptibly leans into it, unsurprised but still flattered, a glutton for attention as always; the staring is something she’s become quite used to, attached to, even. She bats her lashes at him in amusement, a warm gesture that’s surprising given the stoicism of the rest of her expression. It is, Bex responds, with a tiny smile - as if he really is complimenting her, as if the oasis is some extension of her own self, which, in a way, she feels it is. I come here a lot.

She steps forward and dips that delicate head to take a drink. The water is clear and cool as always, and the mass of Bexley’s hair skims the top of it, collecting glassy beads that she does not bother to shake off as she looks up at Vadim again. His questions come as an onslaught, and Bex has to bite back the snide remark that comes to her lips automatically - but bite it back she does, and with effort she bares her teeth in a smile instead, ears flickering as she formulates a response. 

Not native, she starts coolly, but not really new. I don’t know who built the court except that it must have been hundreds of years ago, and revering Solis is important because this has always been His land, and He - and most of the people who live here - will kill you if you don’t respect him. Bexley included, though she is more one for poison than dueling, for words than brawls. He has no children.

Her voice has gone smooth and slow, and her glance at him is more lazy than invested. Still she has the decency to ask, Any other questions? before lapsing into silence once more, weight tilted onto a back limb.

---

@vadim <3

[Vadim]

He listens attentively as she speaks, ears perks forward.  He blue eyes find their mirrors in her face and he doubt and frustration is written clear as day break in the lines of his body and the expression of his face.  Still he is quiet until he is sure she has finished, processing what she said.  Already the mind behind those eyes is trying to find the implications of every sentence she speaks, drawing conclusions and trying to define how his life works now in Solterra.  He couldn't imagine living anywhere but a place like this, full of hot sand and biting wind and hidden treasures.  Her question prompts a quick nod and a smile more wry than cheerful.

Vadim is thinking and in thinking he has lost some of the awkward hesitation and anxiety that previously would have had him shrinking from any hint of displeasure at his many questions.  He knows he asks too many- he has always asked too many and too many people have indulged him in answers for him to stop now.  It seems he never learns anything if he doesn't ask.

"Many, but most aren't terribly important."  His words are almost dismissive, not of her but of himself.  His stance has changed, no longer fidgeting and dancing on the edge of the oasis but hooves now braced except for one that lifts to stamp the sand, telegraphing his disquiet at the answers he received.  He understands what she says but there are so many problems with the reasoning that it bothers him.  

"Wouldn't it make more sense to educate people on Solis and allow people to make that choice whether they wish to remain or not rather than forcing anyone who does not agree to believe blindly to either leave or pay lip service to something they don't believe in?"  His muzzle scrunched a little as he rolled the thought over in his head.  "That sort of thing sounds like it would breed resentment and sew discontent rather than binding us together."

He still counts himself among them, even is he is new.  Even if he is unwelcome.  He chose their lot when he did not leave after the meeting that announced the new laws.  He invested in them when he put in the labor to ready the garden for planting so that they would have food into the future.  He does not yet quite understand the strict hierarchies of Novus and specifically of the Day Court.  Or rather, he understands them but he does not yet quite realize how the militaristic nature of their sovereign might effect the day to day life of the court.

@Bexley

[Bexley]

BEXLEY BRIAR

---

The sun has subdued her somewhat, and so Bexley’s patience is not tested by the silence that passes between them for that moment, and not even by what comes out of his mouth next, as absolutely stupid as it is. Her gaze is hooded and cool, and she watches him for a second longer than necessary, as if she does not quite believe this is a real question he’s asking her: Solterra has never been one for diplomacy, hardly even one for education. They are lovers and fighters and proud of conquest. They are right to live the way they do, and there is no amount of dialogue in the world that will convince a heretic to change the way knives and a blazing desert sun will.

You sound like a flower picker, she points out with a snort. We are not diplomats, we are not priests. It is not our job to convince people to come here. The desert kills those who don’t love it, just as Solis kills those who dare to take residence in His home without paying proper homage. Distracted as she mulls over her next words, Bex draws a random assortment of lines in the sand, head tilting in thought. You will never see a Day Court mission sent out to convert, or anything in that vein - the belief comes first. The living comes second. 

Her teeth grind imperceptibly. It is strange to hear these words coming from her own mouth when only a year ago Bexley worshipped a wholly separate entity. Yet her time spent in the Day Court has been transformative, and already she is someone rebirthed, devout, someone who understands why the people here live as they do - because there is no other choice, not if they want to survive. There is only one way to live in Solterra, she finishes. Under His rule or not at all.

---

@vadim <3

[Vadim]

He does not like this.  He doesn't totally understand what she calls him but he is beginning to pick up on the slang that seems to roll so easily from the tongues of Solterrans, degrading those of other courts.  His ears flatten as she speaks, disqueted.  Still, he does not interupt.  Even when she pauses to think his teeth stay closed.  No noise escapes him but his breath, even and quiet.  His hooves brace in the sand, shifting a little here or there as his discomfort radiates through his bones.  He lets her finish and he weighs what he says next.  

The golden stallion has no real desire to try and change her opinion, but he does not understand.  Even as their looks are somewhat alike their minds seem to be foils.  Faith and reason.  It is not true that they cannot coincide, but he must follow reason first.  Faith will follow.  For several moments after she finished he weighs her words.  This is like standing within view of water with quicksand all around.  Each step has the potential for great danger and yet the goal is necessary.  Water is everything to a thirsty horse and to some knowledge is akin to water.  Perhaps greater.

"Harsh lands kill those who do not treat them with respect."  Vadim allows, voice gone quiet.  He is not guarded- he doesn't know how to be.  Anger, fine as a knife blade, prods the strings of caution that make him weigh his words.  He doesn't know exactly where this is going.  "Why should we not be diplomats and priests?  To be all of one kind is dangerous.  The strength of Solterra might be in it's warriors and in it's faith, but those warriors cannot stand alone.  A warrior is only as strong as the people who feed him and heal him and make peace so he may rest for a time.  Faith alone does not keep you fed and watered and unwounded."

Now defiance rings clear in his words.  He knows this is dangerous- not only is he a stranger here but she outranks him in this world of hierarchy and authority.  But the danger seems little compared to this affront.  He is not opposed to violence or to faith, but he needs

@Bexley

[Bexley]

BEXLEY BRIAR

---

They are too still. Too aggravated, too at odds. Bexley is already growing tired of their dynamic, unused to this kind of response - though really, it might benefit her to hear a little more of it. With a cold and narrowed gaze she watches for Vadim’s reply, white lashes fanning against the gun-flare sun, and as he opens his mouth again, one ear flicks lazily backward, just brushing the silken curls piled atop her neck. There’s no way he’ll tell her what she wants to hear. It’s infuriating. 

Faith alone does not keep you fed and watered and unwounded.

Don’t be stupid, Bex replies immediately, letting a bitchy, incredulous smile split her lips to only half an arc. Her gaze sparks suddenly with amusement as it meets his. Faith is not throwing your body on the pyre or fasting for weeks just to prove your devotion. Faith is knowing that if you love Solis, He will love you, and in that case - yes, it does keep you fed and watered, and, when you’re lucky, unwounded. Who puts fruits in the desert? Who lets rains fall when we need them? Who blesses His soldiers in battle? Somehow it feels natural coming from her mouth. If only he knew what an outsider she was six moons ago, the amount of Solterran soil she has not touched. A blink passes over those cerulean eyes - and if Vadim were to look hard, he would notice just how nervous it seems - but it leaves as fast as it comes, so that within half a moment Bexley is herself again, sultry, overconfident. And we have faith in each other - that all Solterrans are bound to take care of their kind. That tends to our garden. That delivers medicine to the sick. That scouts our borders.

To say anything else would be pushing her point, so Bexley merely nods at him and takes another drink, body flushed with the heat of the sun overhead and the irritation in her chest. We are not all of one kind, she remarks. You’ve only met those of your rank. We have priestesses and healers and sages, but within blood is where glory lies. She shifts one hip toward him to show off the paling scar that runs down one side of her ribs - what was a gushing wound only weeks ago, now bleached to healing by the light.

---

@vadim <3

[Vadim]

Don't be stupid  He flinches back from the harsh words and for a moment he wonders if she's heard anything he's said.  Her words answer his, and yet there is a dissonance.  As though she has heard the words but has not understood the meaning.  She has changed the context of their conversation.  He draws back, hooves dancing uneasily on the sand.  The thin strands of his pale tail lash, but he can't get rid of the electricity racing through his veins.  His thoughts gain momentum, barely caught behind the dams of his teeth, allowing her the space to speak, the space to express her side though to him it does not strike at the heart of the matter.  It is shallow, picking at the words he uses and not at the meaning they represent.  Nor can he tell if it is deliberate or if it is only that he has failed to communicate his purpose.  His mind worries over the words he said and her response, trying to see if he could have said it better.  It stalls his response, dividing his mind in two.

She seems unshakable.  It feels a little as though he is speaking into the empty desert, words falling on the unfeeling, deaf sands.  Further, her attitude disturbs him though he can't quite pinpoint why.  "That is not the kind of faith we were talking about.  I agree wholeheartedly that trust in other herd members to do their duty and do what is best is important to keep things working.  To keep everyone well.  That is not the same thing."  He takes a step back from her when her hips swings towards him, only belatedly noting the scar she seems to be showing.  Eyes bright as heart-fire look from it to her face, not understanding.  What glory is there in that?  In the marks of violence that mar the symmetry of her body.  He remembers faintly some mention of a hunt from the meeting but he doesn't recall it's purpose.  Was there one? 

"If Solis provides the fruits of the desert, why do we bring soil and seeds from other lands?  On that line of reasoning, then those who cannot sustain themselves on the bounty of the desert should be allowed to starve."  The thought offends him- it is not how he was raised.  His people had helped each other and strangers even, showing them how to find the secret waters and feed that the desert provided if you knew enough to find it.  The implications of what Bexley has said disturb him as his mind chases them down different trails of logic.  He looks away from her, a hard snort escaping his wide nostrils as he tries to martial his thoughts.

"How do you know?"  He asks after a slight pause.  It isn't an accusation.  The question is quiet, genuinely curious.  

@Bexley ^.^

[Bexley]

BEXLEY BRIAR

---

The sun is no candle flicker, it is a lighthouse, and Bexley leans toward it in this time of need - though it already sears her from where it is hung in the sky, a sharp-toothed burn across her skin. Eyes narrowed against the weight of it, she watches Eik carefully. How can they be so utterly different, so completely at odds, and yet from the outside look almost the same? Except for the nervous swish of that thin tail, the anxiety with which he looks upon her - an expression Bexley has never worn - they could be twins to the untrained eye. The strangeness of it would send a shudder up her spine if she weren’t as phlegmatic as she is. 

His shift at the sway of her hip is unsubtle, but Bex says nothing about it, not surprised in the least. What a shy, skittish thing, what an unsatisfying existence, to be afraid of one scar, of the sight of a bone while still under skin. They should be allowed to starve… She smiles blankly, meets his eyes. Yes, says the blue gaze, frank. That is how we live. Nothing escapes the bone-white lips, but the cold honestly of her expression says it almost as well: it may be harsh, but this is the way of Solis, the way His desert operates. The thing Vadim says in a tone of voice that belies how ridiculous he thinks it is really is the basis of all life here. What a shock he’s going to have living here, adjusting to the bleakness of Solterra. Bexley has seen violence and poverty, and power wrenched from her hands, she has been the cruel ruler, she has been the bullwhip, and so the transition into this regime was not so difficult, coming from a life of the same bitterness and barbarity - but it seems Vadim has not, and for a moment she pities him, lamenting the life he will have to grow used to.

Because I do, she says simply, with a slow rolling of her narrow shoulders. True in the same way that we have four gods, and that rain falls less here than it does in Denocte. The frankness of her voice is something startling to behold, yet somehow it still rings with warmth, her feelings never having been faint enough to be hidden. Despite their differences, her pity is quickly turning to a slow admiration, not only of his innocence but of the audacity he has to show up here, a stranger in a strange land, and present his heart to the answers of so many difficult questions. 

---

@vadim <3