“For all evils there are two remedies - time and silence.”
― Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
Remember where they bloom my dear boy,
Seek them out in your darkest hour.
Rodrigo did not make a threatening stance, but from the start was mentally braced for an assault. The bay galleon was no stranger to hostility and being met with it in strange places among strange equines. Rodrigo need not touch or draw closer, he assessed the other stallion from where he stood. His soldiering days had given him a good sixth sense of things and a more intuitive gut. The stocky hellion was tensed to spring into battle while the mare seemed braced for flight. The beast was protective of the other, and dare he say submissive even, at least this is how it appeared on mere observation. She was darker than the male who was a sandy gold hue, both blanketed with white like snow. He watched the mare thoughtfully as she seemed to drift away somewhere after he had spoken, and while he waited his eyes drifted back to male. Rodrigo's movements were subtle, and while it was natural to return aggression with aggression he did not regard the other stallion with anything close to it. Rather he smiled faintly and kept his head hovering lower than the other's crane.
Rodrigo was understanding of the other's innate need to protect the mare, he was once charged with much to protect: a woman, his country and his king. When things fell apart it was his family that needed him most then. He wondered if he had failed them…or if he were to be more honest with himself, he felt as if he had failed them. The other virile snorted and the mare seemed to be pulled back to where they were by the falls by it. They regarded him still, judged him. For sizeable equines to be so cautious Rodrigo's natural instincts kicked in as he pondered if they might be fugitives of their own country or perhaps they had been through much. His mind did not dwell on this for curiosity's sake. It was simply habit to know who he was dealing with. And being here on the island…well, all the inhabitants were strangers with histories were they not?
“There is a grove in the Forest where willow trees grow, on the southern edge of the territory where the stream widens to spill into the ocean. I spent a lot of time there as a child; it’s very secluded. You remind me of the sunlight that spilled through the hanging branches when the wind was strong.” The mare spoke, her voice was lulling and even a bit sad he thought…a beautiful sound really. Rodrigo's expression displayed a moment of surprise as his warm gaze met hers again, and he tilted his head and beamed. I take that as a compliment my lady, and I thank you. This place…sounds like a grand place to spend one's childhood. I should like to see it one day." The words came almost naturally, still flowing gentle as a stream. He had always been this way, calm and able to remain steadfast during even the most dire circumstances. This part of him was lost for a while in recent years but gradually he was again becoming the civil beast he had once been (had always been).
He sensed the stallion's reaction to relax a bit at the mare's words. He listened to her, closely and carefully, and obviously cared a great deal for her as she did him. “What are peace roses?” Her question filled his ears which twitched forward at this, surprise again. Were the pair not from the island? Rodrigo had always thought the blooms his mother spoke so fondly of would be widely known among the islanders. But more and more he found they were a mystery to many. Perhaps they had faded from existence he thought. His eyes moved to the stallion a moment and drifted back to the mare before he looked to where the birds made commotion in a nearby tree.
"I am beginning to think they are nothing more than a myth. When I was very young my mother told me of a rose that sprung following a time of great calamity in the islands. It appeared as a rose might with colors like moonlight and the sky at first light and the golden light of the North Star." Rodrigo paused returning his gaze to the stallion and the mare. Peaceroses were a favorite theme of his mother's stories moreso following their exodus from the land they once called home. Look not where roses bloom. his mother would always add. "It is possible they perhaps do not bloom this season." He seemed to be musing to himself at this, realizing that he may have to extend his stay another three seasons to be thorough. He had a promise he did not intend on breaking for not having tried.
"My name is Rodrigo, pardon me for not saying so earlier. I am also sorry for having disturbed you both. Might trouble you just once more to ask if you perhaps know a place that may be in need of a guard or soldier?"
RODRIGO
the spaniard |