[PRP] In the Lean Season (Iskra'roima + Amarant)

[Lady_Ourania]

A long, uninteresting stretch of land sprawled out in front of him, flat and made entirely featureless by the snow. Fresh flakes had fallen late in the night, and a thin veneer of white still covered the plains when the sun began to peek out from behind the distant cloud cover. Amarant could have been walking on the moon for all the resemblance it bore, though even that surface was interrupted by the occasional crater. The alien uniformity that met his stare unsettled him, the sense of déjà vu conjuring an itch along his shoulder blades. Frost crunching beneath the stallion's hooves was the only thing that kept him grounded, accompanied by the occasional grunt of exertion from between gritted teeth. If not for the telltale trail of prints behind him, he might have suspected he was going nowhere fast. At the tail end of a bitter winter, the air remained eerily quiet, muffled despite the expansiveness of the area. The last time he'd seen any other living creature had been miles back; just some lone coyote with a grey muzzle, leggy and underfed even for the season. She'd eyed him skeptically, seemingly weighing her chances before sloping off. Her short-lived audacity had amused him, but that spark was unsustainable in his current environment.

Amarant did not enjoy the lowlands. His dislike had faded somewhat over time, but he'd been raised in the mountains, and he knew his footing better there. The cold hardly registered anymore, long since resigned to the mats it left in his mane and tail. It was simply that the plains in the winter were practically a desert, and his hulking form stood painfully visible against the backdrop of such a wasteland. The thought of some uninformed predator barreling down on him wasn't too troubling – anything that saw him would be observable in kind, after all – but he hardly wanted to attract attention to himself in case someone was tracking his movements. That outspoken shrew from the riverside, for example, who had been so keen on correcting his so-called prejudices. She'd proven too uncoordinated to inflict any lasting physical damage when he'd scoffed at her, despite some admirably vicious kicks and bites. A fight he could handle, but successfully avoiding having his ear talked off was a necessary survival tool. Exposure on this scale grated, and he found himself scanning the horizon from behind a thick, blood-red forelock. When the sun rose higher, the diamond-fine surface of the compacted snow would probably half-blind him. The sooner he saw the scratchy outline of a forest, the better.  

[Nyhility]

Tribal marks seeped deep into the earth as the mare stepped forward, her inked legs drowning with each step. The territory was still suffocated under a blanket of snow, and such guise of perfection was beginning to bother the individual. From the smooth coat of glistening white, to the chilling air that stung, it felt like a lofty side of nature that looked down on its dwellers. It may have just been her own senses becoming too sensitive and jumpy, having traveled through the abandoned snow for some hours now.....but all the same.

It was driving Iskra stir crazy.

Shaking her tangled mane, a blaze of life against the frozen meadow, the mare could only snort out her frustration in a puff of air. It wouldn't be long before she reached the woodlands, and could finally peel herself free from this endless white. The company of others, and the subtle comfort of heartbeats and breaths around her, would most certainly heal her from this lonesome travel. She was a creature of activity, no doubt about that, and it was this innate lifestyle that burned her veins with determination. The sooner she could get out of this dreary location, the better.

Casting a grin on her face, Iskra picked up her pace with the help of her inner musings. If anything, it was an unforeseen method to catching up on some exercise. The snow was halfway up her legs, and the untouched depth of the substance proved to be a strong resistance against her movements. Nothing like the fragile appearance of it's smaller flurries and snowflakes.

Ears flitted forward and the chatter-minded mare peered at the land before her. Like a hovering mess of blood on the white turf, she could easily spot the other Soquili marching through the snow. Her heart swelled at seeing the remote colors of his pelt, even from this distance. They were so like her own...could he possibly be blood related? There was still a vast amount of kin that she'd yet to meet, and if this was an opportunity to bridge those gaps then she'd be damned to ignore it. Her tusks nicked at her skin, such was her excitement, and she hurried her pace all the more.

Should she yell out? Or continue in rushed silence? Either way, it was certain that she'd come as no surprise to the other. Her own locks were more like a camouflage to a wildfire, so being a sneaking companion by sight was out of the question. And since the other fellow was uphill from her, he'd most definitely hear her panting by the time she marched her weight through the snow. No need to be demure at this moment, and besides it wasn't quite her style.

"Wait up, will you?"  

[Lady_Ourania]

He hadn't expected anything to meet his gaze, the urge to examine his surroundings a habit borne of early teachings. But movement in his periphery had his head turning, the gesture deliberate and largely unconcerned. Whatever it was, at least it did something to alleviate the sameness of the terrain, letting his vision sharpen from its previous state of half-focus. The sun was in his eyes, however, just bright enough to send a glare off the crusted ice and make it difficult to catch a glimpse. Squinting allowed a hazy outline to materialize out of the seeming nothingness, some malformed silhouette flickering against the salted backdrop like a mirage. His first thought was that the coyote had returned, boldness reinforced by her concave belly. But the figure proved to be larger than he'd anticipated, its gait markedly different. Although the creature's identity was far from confirmed, Amarant felt secure enough to turn away, continuing to trudge through the heavier drifts. If it planned on using the hollows stamped by his hooves to better navigate the snow, then so be it. He was neither petty nor interested enough to insist they blaze their own path.

A shout from behind had him tensing slightly, made worse when he recognized the words as a command. It was clear then that his pursuer was female, and apparently assumed she had some stake in the pace he had set. His head swung around irritably, dreadlocks slithering away from his snout as a burst of contemptuous breath razed the air. Was it really that amateur from the river come for seconds? But the voice was higher, possibly younger, and lightly accented. He stabbed at the earth with a heavy foot while he stalled, the weight of his impatience almost tangible. It would have been easier to continue walking, ignoring the stranger's cries until she gave up. But he was hardly a coward, and if she wanted something more of him, he was willing to disparage her to her face.

When she came fully into sight, something low in his belly froze, the sensation crawling up his ribs and stretching toward his chest. Her hair tumbled past her shoulders in a painfully familiar shade, long enough that the strands wrote wavy lines in the snow. Dark markings scrolled shamelessly along her body, protecting her spine and flank with indelible ink. Amarant's own skin flexed involuntarily, the salamander that sat on his shoulder arching in tandem before it grew still again. His father flashed momentarily across his vision, a lightning strike of memory that made his clenched jaws creak. Of course, he thought shortly, inflectionless even in his own head. His father hadn't left his previous life to become some celibate ascetic, after all. It was possible that he'd abandoned one family only to start another in a more temperate climate.

But something was off, a marked difference that called to him even as her resemblance had before. It could have been blamed on her mother, or even further dilutions of the line. Still, blood had always called to its own in the past, and after the initial shock had worn off, the evidence that remained was thin. Vivid, unruly hair had never been unique to his clan, and even that paired with the blue coat shared borders with mere coincidence. The longer he looked, the less convinced he became, the chill knot in his insides slowly unraveling. It had just been a momentary lapse, self-deception getting the best of him. Amarant tucked that admission away for the moment, instead choosing to loom over the mare without any real intent. "What d'you want?" he grunted, his words thrumming low and even. The annoyance from before had all but evaporated, apathy welling in its wake.  

[Nyhility]

Lady_Ourania

The chill of the snow devoured her legs the further she drove herself uphill, and Issy found herself muttering words she would not otherwise say in front of her mother. While the lower half of her legs had become a bearable numb to the repeated contact with snow, the new depths were a far discomfort to the rest of her body that was forced to sink into it. Due to this changed variable, the hulkish mare made a rushed effort to scale the hill, her motions choppy and not at all for a model of grace. But her footing was sure and her resolve cemented, enough so to distract her from the static idleness of the stranger she was pursuing.

Finally making it to the crest of the hilltop, the mare paused for an honest breath. By now her mane was nearly pasted to her form, the mixture of her own body heat and the moisture of clinging snow changing the texture of her locks. It was moments like this that she envied her siblings, with their carefree and short manes while she was forced to endure her blanket of locks, seeming to create a humidity no matter what the weather may be. And in the discussion of relatives, Issy canted her head to finally catch a true glimpse of the other Soquili.

The mare couldn't help her own expressions making themselves known. Well, this fellow certainly wasn't any of her siblings. Although it could very likely be that he descended from her grandmother's family tree, with how vast its branches reached. Even so, Issy couldn't help but feel a small sense of criticism towards the stallion. Like how one can often spot the differences between mule and stallion, this individual before her was minutely different from a standard Troll Soquili. His body lacked the myriad of tribal tattoos that the rest of her kin held, although a large portion of his form was concealed in fabrics. And while he was adorned with the dreaded mane of the elder generations, he had not a hint of tusk or fang.

Issy didn't know whether to be excited or mildly perplexed by this individual, who otherwise could have been blind or mute with his own lack of reaction.

Until he spoke, and one of the mare's ears saluted up among the mass of feathers. Giving a crooked smile, she trotted nearer with a short laugh that sounded insincere in the frozen air. "So blunt, n' with an accent too." Making a half-moon walk around him, Issy lifted a brow while trying to test his senses. Did he have eyes under that mass of hair? He didn't show a shred of fear or anxiety around her antics, and why should he? His bulk and height were enough of a fair warning to others of his potential. But Issy herself was....none too delicate in build, and her genetic jaws gave her a boost of confidence.

Pouting her lip at his gruff question, she only leaned her head in the opposite direction. "Such a general n' valuable question you ask. World peace, more tattoos, golden adornments..." Her red eyes slid back in his direction to see how well he handled humor. "Some body heat would be lovely ri' now. What a shame."
 

[Lady_Ourania]

Her labored ascent was met with little in the way of a reaction from the stallion, the only sign of life a result of the breeze tugging at the heavy locks of his hair. In truth, Amarant was already preoccupied with a restlessness that ticked quietly beneath his skin, meting out the time she wasted on his behalf. Most creatures knew at a glance to steer clear of him, to take cover and wait for his hulking shadow to slip past: this one had actually summoned the gall to march up and engage him like it was second nature, like he owed her something. Maybe that, more than anything, had made him mistake her lineage, old resentment resurrected by the smallest hint of entitlement. The urge to demand her tribe's surname ebbed even further, and Amarant settled into his stance, unsatisfied, but willing to let it lie.

A sudden spurt of laughter made his ears twitch back, the sound more unexpected than unwelcome as it dispelled their impasse. Sometimes common sense skipped a generation, he mused abstractly, watching her steadily to make sure she did not try to take his flank. Her words were met with the same unmoved expression as her circling steps, Amarant's scarred chest expanding as he took a deep, stabilizing breath. The other mare had run her mouth off before launching into an attack; it wasn't unreasonable to assume this one might do the same, given half a chance. But the redhead carried herself like she was familiar enough with her body to hash out their differences right there in the snow, mucking up the pristine stuff with heavy footfalls and bright, steaming ribbons of blood. He noted the tusks at her lips without moving his head, following the gleam of them in the dawn light. Her dam must have gotten overly friendly with a boar at some point, a hint of overbite and some truly wicked teeth all that remained of a one night stand. Still, the problem they presented was hardly insurmountable. He'd tangled with nastier creatures before, and to top it all off, she currently seemed more interested in nattering on than potentially eviscerating him with her mouth.

It took a long second to tune into what she was saying, the smugness that permeated every sentence swirling around him with almost feline intent. It would have set his teeth on edge a few years ago, started a riot deep in his marrow that pushed its way out through more violent channels. In the now, he was capable of waiting her out, listening with half an ear as he surveyed the way she'd come, looking for backup, a shadow cavalry, anything that might explain her extended presence. The insinuation that followed her more innocuous suggestions finally managed to draw his face toward her, an invisible brow quirked in vague question. Crassness was nothing new to him, not with the company he kept, but it had been a while since someone had propositioned him so directly. "Barking up the wrong tree, kid," he said shortly, more interested in shutting her down quickly than preserving her feelings. "If you're lookin' for instant gratification, try back the way you came. Nothing out here for you or yours."  

[Nyhility]

The moment of delayed response from her companion was but a small itch against her mind, enough to inform her of his...dismay to her presence. But certainly not enough to make the mare tremble with anxiety or even a shred of embarrassed humility. Instead, she gave a minimal pout while her eyes slid back over to the somber male. It crossed her mind that he may be suffering frostbite or a dry tongue, but a quick glance over at his form showed no signs of such ailments. Obviously pale and tinted skin meant nothing when it came to a Soquili's pelt.

With her curtain of mane absorbing her warm breath in face of the frigid air, the mare almost flustered herself at the sensation as she waited. She hadn't truly realized how chilly it was when she was in motion, as her body heat circulated through her whole form in blissful ignorance. But now? She could nearly bow her head into her shelter of tangled locks to keep warm, if she didn't feel the slight movement might convey a different meaning to the gruff individual beside her. He had yet to mutter more than a single sentence; a very off putting feature to any conversation. Or attempt thereof. If Issy was of an impatient nature, she would already be rolling her eyes and insulting this stallion's lack of social charm. But to each their own, and it was not as if the mare had anything better to do at the moment. In fact, since she more or less fell into the material fetish of life's qualities, she was more than content to catch a glimpse every few seconds at the others accessories. Some of the items obviously noted of a traveler's nature, although she couldn't tell if the ivory pendant he wore was for decor or as a story-telling prize.

Just when the mare was finding the texture of the snow to be of more interest than her current situation, the mare twitched an ear and blinked with surprise. Had he moved? Even if it was nothing but from the neck up, it was still a valid reaction! Another laugh managed to escape Issy, if not a short lived one. "Aye! Here I nearly believed ya to be deaf! That would've made for a tragic turn around, eh?" Her eyes gleamed as she waited for more to come out from this mysterious male. Oh he could hide behind his burly mane all he wanted, but she could still read the gears ticking in his mind by his rigid body language. Whether he cared to or not, he was participating in the encounter.

However, the tribal mare couldn't help but be surprised by his choice response when it finally did arrive. Although not for reasons one might normally consider. "Oh, mai apologies! I hadn't realized you might favor others of your same...build. By all means, congratulations on whoever charms the apples from your tree then." She gave the other a soft grin, not at all honest from her own initial teasing to realize the original intent of his words. Such was the carefree and non-too focused lifestyle of this mare. "I haven't a clue what you might mean, good sir. I was simply looking for a source of heat as one might look for fabrics to adorn for warmth. Be careful next time the topic comes around, one might think ya be intimately frustrated with such outright statements. Hm?"

Lady_Ourania

 

[Lady_Ourania]

Given another few minutes, he predicted that she would start to fidget more openly, her small, shuffling movements carefully monitored from beneath his forelock. The gestures proved that she was indeed younger than he’d suspected, if not necessarily in body, then clearly in mind. Standing still was not a task she had mastered, nor one she seemed interested in applying herself toward. Why he had elected to talk instead of simply dissuading her with heavy silences and unappealing snowdrifts, Amarant had no idea. Worse, his plan to send her scurrying back to her tribe backfired. Her attention appeared to have locked onto him once again, her red head involuntarily jerking up when he brushed off the blatant come on. Mouth pulling into a partial grimace, he nonetheless stood stone-faced while her chipper voice hacked at him yet again, extending the dare before withdrawing it entirely. This one was fickle, tactile, feeling out the boundaries that stood between them and dancing away before he could retaliate. He almost could have appreciated such a strategy in a fighter, the one-two punch of an attack before she retreated to a safe distance, taking stock and awaiting another chance. In a conversation, the tactic merely irritated him, his blood pumping without any outlet.

"I'm not the one stoppin' strangers in the snow for a chat. If anyone needs to take care of their words, it'd be you." He lifted his chin, and the ropey tendrils of hair parted to let one green, earthy eye pierce her. Unhindered by the constant frame of red, he saw the way she had huddled somewhat involuntarily into herself, and that a thin layer of rime had begun to creep around the damp velvet of her nostrils and mouth. His resolve flickered, an incongruent memory surfacing from the scattered waves of his thoughts. There were these seabirds - loud, infernal, pale-bellied creatures – that colonized the far cliffs near the ocean. The entire flock weathered the worst of the winter nights by cramming themselves together, wings overlapping until they were indistinct from one another; an entire society based on survival instinct. It was an overblown image that was unlike him to entertain for long, and he quickly discarded it without examining the impression too closely. But it nonetheless highlighted how this mare’s desire for warmth, cloaked as it had been in humor, was based on something real. The cold for him was negligible, the bite something he had acclimated to during childhood. But she wasn't him, was not even distantly related to him, and sometimes it was difficult to recognize a weakness in which he did not share.

"Already told you, not much out here," he said, and with that he turned away from her, back onto the invisible path that had occupied his sights for part of the night and most of the morning. Sticking around and filling the air with meaningless talk was just encouraging her to do the same. As he broke new ground, Amarant reassured himself that disengaging was a way to prevent her from further wasting his time, rather than some veiled attempt to keep her moving. He was fed up, not soft. "Turn back or keep true, doesn't make much difference. But if you're expectin' someone to come and chip you out when you freeze to death, you'd better think again."  

[Nyhility]

"Another moment of pause, mh? That's alwight, it's understandable to be overwhelmed by me charms sometimes." Her chin tilted up in a light-hearted nod, awhile at the same moment shrugging off her own humor. Even a good natured-bantering could turn dry if it was a one-sided contest. This male threw his own good snarks and remarks, true, but they were short lived and left little to the imagination. What this fellow had to say was indeed what he meant, no room for questions to be asked. But Iskra was a creature of a wiggly nature, to say the least. She had no doubts she could make some room if need be, even if the effort of words should take up no room at all.....

What an odd development.

With as much force as expected, the stallion halted her wandering train of thought with his graveled voice. She turned back to peer at him, her mouth already poised with a comeback before choking silently on the air. She hadn't expected to see his mane parted, and the gem of sight peering back at her in an almost fearsome manner. It was usually said that eyes were the window to the soul, and all this stranger had to do was reveal one to make this mare falter. What she had previously assumed to be nothing more than a sensitive and aged teddy bear that she could tease had changed, and Iskra slapped her lips shut as she turned away. What was this tingling in her gut....survival instinct, perhaps? "Meh, is tha' so?" And she spun on her hooves, fully facing the other with a sassy tilt of her head and a leveled challenge in her voice. Goodbye instincts.

"Then please do be informin me of how ta hold a proper conversation. I implore ya, since last I was taught a chat involved two participants." She was less stung than she was spurred on by his words. And they were so few, go figure. Perhaps it was the poor influence of growing up with so many brothers, making her think she could vocalize her emotions in such challenging spouts. Or maybe it was the mysterious ways of simply being a mare, struggling to always prove her own worth and capabilities to members of the opposite sex. Either way, the rugged traveler before her had spoken in a tone reminiscent of a scolding father. And that alone was enough to trigger a stubborn response from the lass.

But before she could even begin what she'd consider a valiant and impressive tantrum for one her age, she blinked to find that the stallion was already somberly shuffling away. What the hell, when did that happen? "Oy now." Kicking her legs to life for fear of them falling asleep, the Troll mare cantered after the other. But she made her pace casual and distant, if anything to show her own mutual disgruntlement to her selection of company. Even if she did thrive in group settings. And there was none out here. Save this fellow.

Lonesome? Don't be silly.

"In tha very least, I imagine there is a name to be found out 'ere." She paused her march after the other, suddenly feeling akin to a canine following around those tribal two leggers. Puh, how belittling. All the same, she shot a grin at the retreating male, not caring if he viewed it or not. "Mine's Iskra'roima."
 

[Lady_Ourania]

It didn't take her long to follow his lead, and he did not even need to flick an ear back to check and make sure she was keeping up. The constant stream of words assured him of her progress, her no doubt scathing commentary nipping at his heels even as she wisely kept a few feet of distance between them. He didn’t bother listening, but such tact on her part surprised him. Amarant wasn't much for presenting his flank to anyone, let alone mouthy little fillies in the middle of open fields. But whether she was aware of his preference or merely asserting her own independence from his movements was beyond the scope of his knowledge. That did not stop him from monitoring her every step, her every fogged up breath registering as a burst of life in the chilled air. If she suddenly dropped her chirpy exterior, turned killer in ways he'd seen on occasion, he was not about to grant her an opening. He lacked her teeth, but he had experience, a loose knowledge of combat borne from accepting his victories and meditating on his losses.

He sensed it when she drew to a halt, though he missed the expression on her face as she attempted to goad him into speaking. Amarant tuned in just in time for the typical blather to register. It was the ever-present pressure to exchange information about one another, the kind of thing that became mandatory after a few minutes of aimless exchange. What was different was the name she gave. It sounded like a collision of syllables more than anything else, as bright and vibrant as her coat, and about as nonsensical as the rest of her. He slowed to digest it, head pivoting slightly so that he could look at her. She still appeared cold, but she held her position. "Parents must've figured you'd be tough enough to handle the bullying, givin' you a name like that," he remarked, his tone purposefully bland. He hadn't been much for playmates growing up, but he knew that children could be relentless little bastards when they felt the urge. Nothing brought out viciousness more than diversity, after all. Still, with boar tusks jutting out of her gums and hair like some wild urchin, an exotic name was perhaps the least of her concerns. "Bet your inability to shut your trap didn't help much, either," he added as he turned back to consult his immediate line of sight.

The stallion played with leaving it at that, but the boundaries of her stubbornness were becoming clearer to him by the second. It cost him little to answer, he supposed, and far be it from him to disdain convention. "Amarant," he grunted out at length, his gaze sharpening when he saw the black, spindly shapes of trees over the next crest. "Can use it when you thaw out sometime next spring."