Aplos Riverside

Moladion’s powerful, winding river...
Aplos River is a broad, slow-moving river originating from somewhere beneath the mountains of Spirane and feeding Iromar’s moors in the south. The northern parts of the river are known for their strong currents, with the water becoming slow moving in the south. The riverbanks vary along its course, ranging from soft hummock grasses to small groups of pine, and sometimes nothing but pebbles and sand. Crossing can be difficult at times, but it can be swam or bridged by fallen trees or boulders alike.

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He had slipped away while Vasyenka was sleeping, like a ghost into the light. He would be back before his brother woke (he hoped), and, if he wasn’t well… He’d just grin at Vasy, pretend he couldn’t hear him at all, and mess about until he made Vasy smile again. His brother didn’t understand that Po wanted to be out and about. He wanted to meet others, and learn words, and discover things, and make friends. All Vasyenka wanted to do was sit in a cave and shut the world out. He was like a grumpy old wolf already, despite being the same, fresh age as Poseidon. Two years. Poseidon scoffed to himself. Two years was hardly long enough to start living, let alone to have already decided you’d had enough of it. Vasyenka was an old soul, that already seemed weighed down and world-weary. Poseidon, however, was a soul that would be forever young and innocent, and carefree.

Vasyenka didn’t like him coming out alone, because he couldn’t hear very well at all. But what Vasy didn’t understand was that Poseidon would always be okay. As long as he had his nose and his eyes to rely on, both of which were keener than Vasy’s own. And already, Poseidon was proving to be more heavily built than Vasyenka. He was growing into his body well, and though he still had a way to go, he seemed at home within himself, which is more than could be said for his brother, who would never completely fit or belong anywhere, not even in his own self. Maybe that’s why he didn’t like the world very much, Poseidon pondered. Because he couldn’t find his place in it. Poseidon hadn’t yet found his place, but he wouldn’t give up just like that. It’s what he was doing now, searching. Hunting for something that might give him a clue.

He spotted the disturbance in the grass long before he would have heard it. Sounds that were more than a few meters away fell on deaf ears (literally), unless they were quite loud. But the rustle of grass, even if he was right in the midst of it, would still be hard for him to detect with his ears.But ears didn’t make a wolf, something that Vasyenka often forgot, or failed to realise. But Poseidon didn’t mind. His patience with his brother was like a freshwater spring that would never run dry. Curious, about this rustling grass, he padded forwards, ears up and alert, eyes bright and warm. He paused, when he spied the wolf, and then continued with added enthusiasm. “I found you!” He grinned, tongue lolling. He tilted his head a little. “You look like me. Except… More… More fur.” He was sure there was a word for it (there seemed to be endless amounts of words) but he was a slow learner, unable to take in too much auditory information all at once. “And this!” He lifted his right forepaw, which looked as if it had been dipped in a puddle of red-brown mud. He had this same colour rimming his ears, and a little snip of it on his nose. After a moment’s though, Poseidon moved closer, sitting down beside the white female. “Now I can hear.” His green eyes, with their chips of gold, glinted. “Hiding from who?” He had a funny way of speaking, a funny way of doing everything, really. But it was who he was, and it was how he managed, and he couldn’t think of any other way to be.


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