Kendry nods as the boy speaks of having visited the Crossing before. He recalls the Meadow as one of the first places he explored after leaving Luthien, but not far on the heels of that had been the realm of the bachelors. Having grown up without any consistent male presence (for even the band stallion of the Prairie, though present and kind, had not been as constant a companion to Kendry as his dam had been nor, as Kendry truly believed, his sire would have been had he been around) the Lagoon had had massive appeal to Kendry, and for the first five years of his life it had been enough. With a little distance, both physically and in regards to time, he could now see what it lacked. Perhaps to a young colt or even a young adult the loose structure and apparent free-for-all under a nominal figurehead was appealing, but Kendry was beginning to feel the subconscious pull of something stronger.
He’s barely aware of it here in the field with the boy who introduces himself as Nattergal of the Bay, more interested in the sharp shift in expression crossing the boy’s face. It doesn’t take a genius to understand there’s some sour feelings about home, and Kendry isn’t interested in putting pressure on that wound. Not directly, at least. “The Bay,” he muses, blue eyes unfocusing as he stares at the trees across the way. “Up in Tinuvel, huh? I never got around to that one. I was born on Luthien, in the Prairie, but I’ve spent most of my life roaming around here.” And a little bit elsewhere, but none of that journeying had been particularly remarkable.
Kendry snorts and grins wryly at the boy. “Truth be told I haven’t been off this island very much at all. It’s got a lot to offer for a lot less effort than swimming about.” He’d been to Atlantis once, he recalls suddenly, but that visit had been short-lived and he’d never gotten much further than the beach. He wonders if it will look familiar to him when he returns. “You been over to the falls themselves yet?” he asks. |