†
The rains are back. Out here, exposed on the beach, the wind pushes this way and that, spattering Temblor first one way, then the other, plastering his mane against his neck and sending water running in uneven rivulets down the breadth of his barrel. Rain drums against the sand and plicks into the swirling ocean as the tide rocks its way out. The horizon is obscured by the weather, but even if it had been a clear day his eyes would be looking past the dark mass of the crossing isle, seeking.
He could swim away from Atlantis and enjoy the more temperate clime of another isle, but his business is here. Temblor has not heard word from Osmanthus since their first encounter, and desires to more firmly establish some sort of rapport with his neighbor. There remains, too, the Ridge and the Shore —both as yet unexplored. He has no idea who borders his home. Was a time when he knew the herds on either side of him, and tussled and traded amongst stallions he came to view as his brothers, a good natured and competitive jockeying that strengthened all involved. He'd been building something significant.
And she had toppled him.
He blows rain from his nose. Atlantis might be empty for all he knows of the herds in the rest of its territories. Or it could be full of snakes and sandtraps. Willful ignorance is deplorable and yet, despite that, he has balked, for no real reason other than learned caution, from a wound deeply and swiftly struck that has been a long time healing.
Temblor blinks water from his eyes and turns, restless.
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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