From one mountain range to another, Kendry thinks as his legs churn to carry him through the green-blue waves separating the Crossing from Atlantis. It feels good to work his muscles and he arrives on the beach in high spirits, a little winded from the exertion but bright-eyed and alert as he shakes seaweed off his hind leg and strides out of reach of the tide. The mountains that give this territory its name are southeast from where Kendry has arrived and he heads toward them at an easy trot, trailing water from his long hair the whole way.
Midday finds him at the foothills and here he pauses, far enough in to the territory now that he can smell the presence of horse and knows it would be quite the insult to traipse any further in. Kendry’s not here to start a fight or sow dissent. He’s also not about to hang around on the beach hoping someone might be out for a sandy stroll, so he walks the fine line between impertinent and deliberate by venturing this far toward the Ridge. His blue eyes scan the territory around him and then he tosses his nose skyward, bugling an announcement of his presence for the benefit of anyone within earshot.
That done, he drops his head to groom the rest of the saltwater from his still-wet feathers, one leg at a time. |