†
Summer stretches on, long and hot and ever-wet on Atlantis. Temblor is sleeping through the heat of the day— drowsing, really, where he reclines at the base of a tall, red tree. The drone of far off cicadas is constant in his ears, which twitch on occasion in response to the unceasing stimuli. His nose rests on the curve of one dark foreleg and his breathing comes deep. There has been no sign of any challengers at his borders since his return from the Crossing. He rests easy this afternoon, right up until the tedious normalcy of the jungle is silenced by a scream.
It cuts through the jungle, high and sharp and savage, and brings Temblor immediately to his feet. He leaps into motion and notes with fierce joy the strength in his hip: there is no twinge or spike of red-hot heat to slow him down, and it appears his limb has finally healed since that debacle on the Ridge. The dappled stallion navigates the dense jungle quickly, honing in on the call already fading from the air. There had been no note of fear in that voice, but he sees no reason to delay responding to such a cry. There could be trouble.
He bursts into a shady glen, a slice of actual paradise within its namesake, and soaks up the scene quickly. A mare, dark as tree bark, stands alone in the emerald grass. There is no evidence of a wildcat before her, or an anaconda snaking its way back into the shadows— no pungent scent of ape or gator, nor hide nor hair of even another horse. She is alone. Temblor's ears lift from where they had pinned to his poll, and he utters a low snort. So much for urgency. His eyes rest on the white-maned mare as he gestures a trifle irritably at the lush glade. "Well. What troubles you so, surrounded as you are by paradise?"
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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