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 Posted: Mon Jan 12, 2015 9:15 am
He lived in a lonely place -- that was all. Not many ponies came here, to the rough and rocky hills where the air was cold, the horizon was hidden by fog, and the grass was always wet. And why come here when just below the hills there were broad, sunny plains perfect for herds to graze on?
Whistle came because he liked it. He liked the fog, and the way it made his hide slick with water when he ran. He liked the way the dew burst out of the grass when his hooves kicked at it -- it was almost as if he were making new clouds, and he spent much of his time either grazing on grass or running across it (which, frankly, was not very different from what the ponies on the sunny fields did). And it was cold, yes, but the hills and nearby mountains sheltered the area from strong winds, so the temperature was quite bearable. If ever he felt himself growing numb, he knew caves and rock shelters where he could settle down for a rest.
He wasn’t always alone, of course. While the foggy hills were not desirable territory, they were not hard to reach -- a visiting pony need only wander up some relatively smooth slopes, and step into the misty veil. So once in a while -- like today -- he caught the scent of a stranger.
She was a mare, he could tell that much. But try as he might, he could not see her. That was odd. Usually, he would be able to make out a pony’s dark flank. This suggested one thing; the other pony was light-colored like himself, perfect for blending in and going unnoticed.
He did hear her, though; the sound of hoofprints on long grass reached his ears as he stood on a hilltop. She was there, down the slope perhaps. He reared up and called out -- it was a loud, drifting whistle, like the wind given voice, and he followed it with purposefully mysterious-sounding words.
“WHO GOES THERE?
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Posted: Tue Mar 10, 2015 8:39 pm
 Zephyr Zephyr wasn't unsociable per say, but it was hard for her to get along with other ponies. She was always on the move and her mood was everchanging as her namesake, the wind. As a young filly she had been restrained by her parents who wanted her nearby, but when she grew into adulthood, she was to be contained in the sunny fields no longer and away she traveled to the hills and beyond.
She had become courageous and strong-minded, theatrical even. She found that a single traveling mare was considered an oddity from all angles and she reveled in her difference. She had traveled far around Panavalon, before a twinge of unpredictable homesickness struck her. So the mare had turned from her travels and traveled home.
She hadn't stayed long, for it seemed the sunny fields were as she had left them. Her aged parents were happy to receive her home again and sad no longer to see her leave when she explained that she had to. Being around a herd like the ones her parents lived in was unnerving as ever and her homesickness had disappeared.
So, now the pale coated mare traveled back into the foggy mountains expecting none to cross her path through the mist, for none had approached her the first time in her travels. She was surprised when her assumptions were proven false and when a long, haunting whistle of a voice traveled through the moors and came to her, demanding who she was.
It must belong to the voice of a stallion. Thought Zephyr, in the privacy of her own mind, As the voice has more depth than any of the mares I've encountered. A stallion who cannot be seen in the fog and one with a theatrical air about him. She considered these facts and decided promptly that if he were to play out a scene then she, too, would act in it.
Turning her body in the direction that the voice had come from, she planted her hooves on the damp ground. She took a deep breath and then let out a loud, rousing bellow, which to her mind, could be compared to the way the wind howls during a stormy night outside the safety of a cave.
"You address the West Wind, moor spirit! I soar overheard and through your dwellings, but fear not for I bring no storm with me upon this day!" There. What did he think of that? Stereochrome So sorry for the late reply! I'd wanted to post once Zephyr's cert got in, but I hadn't realized it would take so long. Dx
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Posted: Wed Mar 18, 2015 8:07 am
belloblossom np! i thought the shop was dead for a while anyway. x - x
But this hidden mare did neither. She called back with a fair, strong voice, reaching over the land like the wind.
Whistle perked up immediately, his ears flicking side-to-side to try and better find the source of her voice. But it seemed now to come from nowhere and from everywhere all at the same time. Could it be that this strange mare knew all the same tricks that he did?
How fun!
“Greetings, West Wind!” He called back. “If it is not to bring a storm, why have you come?”
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Posted: Tue Mar 24, 2015 12:35 am
Zephyr How delightful it was that this stallion, whoever and wherever he was, seemed to take as much pleasure in play-acting as she did. He returned her call with the name she had presented and she found herself wanting to move closer. In order to avoid her hooves being heard, for he must've heard her approach having called out to her as such (or he had very good eyesight), she returned his call as she proceeded up the path.
"I merely come to pass over your moors, spirit. I have just come from seeking my Southern brethren in the sunny fields below. I now make my way North. Have many come from the North in recent days?" It was a spontaneous decision, but the North was as good a direction to move in as any.
As she had been speaking, she kept her gaze on the path ahead, so to make sure that she didn't trip over any rocks or pebbles and ruin the whole game. Now that she had reached the top of the hill, however, and was taking a look around, she found her eyes fixed on the dimmest silhouette there ever was. That must be the stallion, she thought and wondered for a brief moment on whether he could see her outline too.
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Posted: Thu Mar 26, 2015 9:27 am
Was she moving? He couldn’t tell. He thought he heard a hoof-step, or maybe two… but perhaps it was just a trick of the wind, for he could not discern the obvious four-step pattern that would mark the passage of another pony.
But her voice, when it came again, sounded just a little louder.
“North? Few come from the North, and even fewer travel that way.” He responded, edging forward a little, peering through the mist to see if he could make out any recognizable form. “Why do you go there? The land becomes mountains, and the ground is always covered with snow. What do you seek there?”
Just as he said those words, he felt that he saw some movement, perhaps the flick of a tail. She was not far now; they both stood at the top of the hill, him on the west side and her on the east. And if he saw her, as faintly as he did, surely she saw him? She seemed to stand still just as he did, the foggy outline of her ears pointed squarely in his direction.
“I grant you passage through my hills.” He finally said, holding his head high and proud for show. “But must you go soon?”
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Posted: Thu Mar 26, 2015 12:23 pm
Zephyr Zephyr could see his silhouette shift towards her and she felt the need to be running forward, just past him and into the mist again. He would only catch a glimpse of her before she was hidden again. What fun that would be! But no, right now patience was required to keep at this game and she was having too much fun to draw it to a close.
He questioned her of why she wanted to travel north and she suddenly had an answer, despite the sudden planning.
"I seek adventure! What a better place to go than the North, where the stakes are raised and the climate full of peril?" She crowed and reared back slightly in her excitement. Yes, the thrill of the chilled winds in her mane, the crunch of sleet underhoof and the echo of the dangerous creatures that resided in the mountains. All prepped her for a wonderful adventure, she was sure of it and her mind was set when he spoke again.
He was granting her passage through his hills and she laughed aloud.
"I would've crossed through here with or without your permission, spirit!" Crowed Zephyr, "For I am the West Wind and any who stand in my path shall be brushed aside. You cannot trap the air!" Said she, only to trail off at the notion of staying in the moors for an extended time. Was he inviting her to stay with him? That might be worthwhile, but she needed to stay in character a little longer...
"I am a fleeting being, ever-changing and never settling in one place for very long." She paused for effect and then went on, "Yet these moorlands hold promise. I will stay until I my soul is called elsewhere." And so she had decided to stay... For the time being, at least.
Dropping her facade, she bolted forward towards the silhouette, stopping just a foot away from the stallion she'd addressed. Her mane flowed slightly in an upcoming breeze and her eyes were wild with glee.
"You did better than I thought you would; you've impressed me. Not many can do that, so good on you." Now that her play-pretend was over, she was speaking in an excitable tone, one that radiated merriment. "Now, who are you really?"
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Posted: Mon Mar 30, 2015 8:37 am
He stood still, ears upright and attentive as he listened to her words. Adventure? Adventure was what had brought him here too, to this foggy and mysterious place. Other places beckoned too, but for now he stayed; he wasn’t sure why. It felt right here, to stay a while and maybe wait for something… or someone.
“Many a wind is lost in the hills!” He warned her, and this was in fact true. While some strong gusts pushed on and swept up the mountainside, others came to rest in the sloping valleys and running brooks of his home, slowing and slowing until they were only a pleasant rustle in the grass. And yet, on some other days it seemed like all that lost wind would gather back up and howl across the landscape, moving triple-speed to make up for lost time.
Perhaps this wind would do the same? He heard her agree to stay, and then the rumble of hoof-steps over wet grass. He did not hide… she was too fast to hide from, perhaps, and also he was far too curious to try.
When they finally saw each other, it was clear why they had stayed so well-hidden before. Both of them had pale-colored pelts and manes, although her eyes were darker and shone like the polished stones in the river-bed. She told him that he had impressed her, and he tossed his mane and laughed with bemused pride. “I’m glad you enjoyed the little game! It’s been a while for me too. No -- not a while. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”
“I am called Whistle.” He introduced himself then, reaching out with his nose in greeting. She smelled like wet and grass and running. “Who are you?”
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