A bitter smile crossed the stallion’s lips as his eyes moved easily over the vastness of the plain. The sun warmed his slick skin as a cool breeze slid across his back and he watched, he just watched. Those crimson eyes were unyielding as silence settled over the red coated man. In those moments, he was every bit the predator he’d been trained so carefully and ruthlessly to be. The utter stillness of his body was evidence enough that he was capable of stealth and ambush, his ribcage hardly moved with each breath.
After what seemed to be an age, the creature finally moved, his well muscled limbs carried him easily through the grass that grabbed at his knees. Ramses inhaled and tasted everything upon his tongue, the sweetgrass and the petite flowers that bloomed nearby; it was lush with life. The vibrancy of the plain confused Ramses, it was open as the Mors but how could it be so nearby and still be so productive? It was amazing how strong Solis’s influence was on their nation and Ramses couldn’t help but respect the sun god even more. Solterra was the embodiment of their patron god, it was hot and merciless but encouraged its citizens to grow strong and unbreakable. If they couldn’t be shaken by the dangers of simply living in Solterra, they wouldn’t be moved easily by much else.
The coyote couldn’t help but chuckle as he thought of the Davke. They were probably what most outside Solterra would expect the citizens to be, but they were the most brutal equines in Solterra, possibly on the whole continent. They were his tribe, his blood and perhaps his family? If the Davke believed in such things, that is. Ramses was no longer one of them but he hadn’t lost those instincts embedded deep within him and they screamed at him now as he continued to admire the expanse of the verdant meadow. Go back. Go back.
The beast within his chest roared and clawed at its cage. Every nerve itched to go back east, to go home…
Ears swivelled as the giant simply stood and enjoyed the tranquility around him, ignoring the boiling of his blood. Laughter erupted from his maw as he imagined how he would appear to a bystander, a beast amongst the flowers.
"How ironic," he snickered sarcastically.
Marisol does not belong here, in this place of sand and sun and nothing else, nothing at all. She stands out like a sore thumb against the bright-goldness of the lighted dunes—too brawny, too dark, and by far too quick moving. The rest of the desert is perfectly still. No howling winds. No fluttering birds. Mari’s pacing disturbs the restful sand; she is a wandering, aggravated specter against the clearly lit Solterran sky.
I do not belong here. I do not belong here. Nervous, pent-up energy clenches in each muscle, and hardly any tension is released by the path she walks back and forth over the dunes. Her spine is wound up in knots, her head held low and rigid. Orestes’ invitation is a weight in her bag. Like rocks. Like drowning. She doesn’t know how she will present herself or what to say, what favors to ask, what treasures to offer.
(As if there are any. As if treasure is what Solterra needs to scrape its way back to standing after Raum’s innumerable blows. Marisol feels foolish, she bites her lip as she walks and thinks; but this is diplomacy, an art just like war, and she can’t treat it as savagely or carelessly as she might like to.)
This is useless. This is a waste of time. You will not live forever, Mari reminds herself, and it is both bitter and blaming to the parts of her that smart from years of scrapping-toil. Throwing the spears. Hoisting the shields. No, she will not live forever, and all of her decisions must take that into consideration; she will not rule forever, either, and now time is up and things must be done. Steps must be taken to protect her people. Starting now and extending forever. The alliances she makes must last far beyond her own life.
After she is dead, after the barrow is set out to sea, Terrastella and Solterra will still soldier on, and her name will be somewhere in that alliance, bright as a sun, solid as a gravestone. That is the mark of a good king.
With a start she jolts back toward the capitol, spins on her feet, clouds of sand scattering upward. Her courage is uplifted, her spirit is resolved. But just as she starts to step forward she sees it—
The silhouette on the horizon, tall, broad-shouldered, a beast in the flowers. Like a monster in wait. Like a predator ready to pounce. She recognizes that stance. She has seen it on the battlefield, in the mirror, rippling across waves of lake water.
Marisol tightens her shoulders and walks toward him.
Time seemed to slow as Ramses simply stood and watched, listened and learned of his surroundings. It was an odd feeling to be so out of place and yet, he found comfort in the sense that he was going to imbed himself deep in another court, perhaps then he could strike. That signature smile slid across those mottled lips at the thought.
The coyote was unsure how long he’d been there but the autumn wind that scraped over his thin skin reminded him once more that he was no longer in Solterra. Ramses was unaccustomed to the change of seasons and unpredictable weather. Everything in Solterra seemed to stay the same, well, besides the politics that is. Anger rolled about in his stomach like a lead ball, terrible, poisonous thing that reminded him of the terrors he’d witnessed under Raum’s tyranny.
Ramses is pulled abruptly from his own mind as the grass rustles behind him and the stallion spins quickly, his crimson eyes landing upon to intruder. The woman’s skin is the same shade as smooth chocolate and those beautiful wings sprouting towards the heavens are spotted and glistening, but even those are not what capture the man’s attention. It is her eyes, those grey orbs that seem to tear him apart with only a glance. As she strides closer, Ramses can’t help but realize she isn’t just a stranger, there is something different about her.
The giant doesn’t allow himself to back down, instead his lifts himself higher and allows a chuckle to escape him.
“Come to enjoy the flowers?” he asked, his voice laced in sarcasm as his attention remains fixated on her and he doesn’t dare turn his back to her.
"Speaking." Tag: @Marisol OOC: sorry, he isn’t one to volunteer to introduce himself? and this is so short... I apologize
When he turns, she is caught a little off guard. The sharp, quick spin, the bright red of his eyes like a predator’s flashing in the dark—her heart shoots upward until it feels like it’s left her body.
Something about him rubs her the wrong way instantaneously. Like any good soldier, she’s immediately suspicious. Her shoulders tighten: she watches him with grey eyes slightly narrowed and her head pulled up high, a little suspicious—even as she tries to push down her frazzled, split-end nerves, even as her gaze remains steady and her breaths flatten out. Rolling her shoulders, Mari forces her posture to relax as she moves forward.
He smells like Solterra, she realizes, as the space between them closes. Sand, spice, cactus flowers. Mari’s hooves crunch across the dry grass with each slow stride. And he looks like a Solterran, inasmuch as anyone can. A sharp-toothed skull hangs against his shoulder, a collection of teeth is strung from a band around his front leg; the bright, ravenous pink-red eyes are what get her the most, what she keeps coming back to as she stops and looks him over.
The very last thing she notices, though, is how tall he towers over her, a good two hands that might, if it comes down to it, give him an advantage. But he is not as heavily scarred. He can’t fly, nor does he hold a weapon. So with some effort Mari manages to blow out a measured exhale, one that undoes some of the knots in her shoulder, and one side of her mouth curls up into a faint, dry smile.
“I suppose,” she says, voice a little rough from disuse, and blinks up at him with dark, glossy eyes. Slowly her wings fold into her sides; the feather shiver of their own accord like they’re shaking off a horsefly. “I was passing through, but this... distracted me.”
Those burning, blood red eyes didn’t leave her and the smirk on his face only grew with each of her movements. The look she gave him, those brutal eyes that looked right into him, he knew she was aware of who and what he was. Ramses was only a predator, ruthless and barbaric, he was not a warrior. However, given that he was a hunter, he can’t help but analyze her and the tenseness that passes over her entire body for a moment.
The coyotes watches as she seems to realize he would be of no threat to her. Though she was aware how much larger he was, there was something about her that harbored no fear… she was coarse and battered and yet, she carried herself as a queen would, her feathers fluffing up slightly with the tinitest motion. That smirk upon his maw fades momentarily as she smiles at him and he can’t help but feel intimidated, though he would never allow such a thing to show. It was weakness, it was something that would find him dead with the vultures picking at his bones in the scorching Solterra sun. “I suppose.”
Those words drip from her lips, a taunt and a warning. This was not a woman to mess with, would that stop him? Absolutely not.
“I was passing through, but this... distracted me.”
Those powerful appendages attached to her shoulders lower and fold tightly against her and he can tell she does not fear him. Ramses huffs internally at the woman for she was going to ruin the game.
A deep chuckle escapes him as he lowers his head and shakes it slightly.
“You do not seem like the type to be distracted by such miniscule things,” he admits, his words once again laced with something sinister.
“Where are you going little bird?” the coyote asks, no, presses, with his lips pulled back, teeth glistening in the sun. Ramses isn’t a fool, he knows what it is to play with fire but he can’t help but be drawn to this woman carrying angel’s wings; a warrior queen with those eternally storming eyes. The beast within him roars in her presence and he cannot remove the menacing grin from those terrible mottled lips, waiting patiently for her reaction.
"Speaking." Tag: @Marisol OOC: Mari please do not murder him lmfao
Marisol does not know fear, in the common sense of the word: she fights too often and too hard to be afraid of anything less than death. Her job demands it.
But she does know suspicion. Right now it’s building in her chest, a rising wave of saltwater, and despite her lack of real trepidation she finds herself leaning back, heart thrilled and disturbed in equal measure by the way he looks at her. His blood-bright eyes burn like gasoline, shine like stones of garnet. The roiling, turning redness of his gaze stirs something in her stomach—nausea in the purest sense, a horrible, limb-tingling feeling she can’t quite discern the root cause of.
She swallows. But her throat is too dry, it doesn’t feel quite right; for some reason, she can’t escape the impression that they are not in the plains anymore but the desert proper. It’s impressive that one person can make the world feel so Solterran. Mari wonders vaguely if she does that, too. Does she have the strange power to change the world around her into her own home? Does she bring with her the smell of salt? A dusky sky, froth-flecked by the rising ocean?
It seems improbable. But then, stranger things have happened.
A snort of incredulity escapes her when he speaks. “Little bird?” she repeats. The idea of it is so ridiculous she’s not even sure she can be offended. Little bird—she is not so much smaller than he is, and perhaps overconfidently sure she could take him in a fight. A laugh burbles into her throat. Just the beginning hint of a smile, self-satisfied, begins to curl her lips. “Hardly. You’re a bigger fool than you look.”
Marisol leans her weight onto a back hoof, ignoring the itch of dry grass as it begins to bite at her ankles.
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