How many years Björn? How many years have you searched for your father? Your mother? They are gone, just face the bitter truth. Yet he had swam on, from land to land, until he felt a call. One that beckoned him to return to his birth place, the Lost Islands. He had entered the ocean, swimming with swift strokes until the islands rose from the distant horizon. Maybe his family had returned to the Islands. Maybe he would see their faces once again. Maybe he would see Avangeline... Her chiseled, delicate face appeared in his dreams, her smile... her sweet voice.
"Jamila,"
Hooves touch familiar shores, his muscles quiver from fatigue. He stumbles a stride before catching himself, he halts, allowing his muscles to recover from the swim. He lifts his thick head higher, his piercing blue gaze scans the beach. His pink nostrils quiver as the salty air mixes with the familiar scent of the Lost Islands, he had returned. He takes a step from the oceans frothy waves, the water clings to the feathers on his legs. His strength begins to return, he climbs the beach and crests the hill. A soft breeze ruffles his long ebony dreads, tossing them around with every gust.
Björn strolls with the confidence of a King, his muscles ripple beneath his hide with every step; gone was the gangly two year old. He slows his pace at the edge of the Meadow, crystal eyes sweep the grasses. Looking for any
How many years Björn? How many years have you searched for your father? Your mother? They are gone, just face the bitter truth. Yet he had swam on, from land to land, until he felt a call. One that beckoned him to return to his birth place, the Lost Islands. He had entered the ocean, swimming with swift strokes until the islands rose from the distant horizon. Maybe his family had returned to the Islands. Maybe he would see their faces once again. Maybe he would see Avangeline... Her chiseled, delicate face appeared in his dreams, her smile... her sweet voice.
Hooves touch familiar shores, his muscles quiver from fatigue. He stumbles a stride before catching himself, he halts, allowing his muscles to recover from the swim. He lifts his thick head higher, his piercing blue gaze scans the beach. His pink nostrils quiver as the salty air mixes with the familiar scent of the Lost Islands, he had returned. He takes a step from the oceans frothy waves, the water clings to the feathers on his legs. His strength begins to return, he climbs the beach and crests the hill. A soft breeze ruffles his long ebony dreads, tossing them around with every gust.
Björn strolls with the confidence of a King, his muscles ripple beneath his hide with every step; gone was the gangly two year old. He slows his pace at the edge of the Meadow, crystal eyes sweep the grasses. Looking for any
