†
Temblor strides deeper into his home as the afternoon lengthens. The dampness on his coat is no longer rain transferred from plants but the sweat brought on by humidity, where the slightest movement was wont to wear one out. He has come recently from the Harbor, and from there cruised the arching border between his home and the other two territories of Atlantis. Some of the scents along that path are different, but at least one is the same. He has made contact outside of Paradise, again, and while it is not the familiar, stoic Osmanthus who leads the Harbor, Temblor is not discouraged.
He follows the river, lost in thought, and realizes too late that he has gone the wrong way. Instead of widening into a pool, it thins and trickles into nothingness. Temblor noses at the damp earth, breathes in the heavy, dark smell he has come to associate with home. As he lifts his head he gets a whiff of something subtle but unmistakable: mare, and not one he knows. Head up, Temblor scans the uneven treeline. The birds above are raucous as ever, the wild undergrowth perpetually dark. He plunges into the jungle.
He emerges on a trail to discover the mare considering something at her feet. She looks up as he approaches, and speaks as if they were in the middle of conversation. Temblor supposes he should feel less agreeable about that, but it is charming to come face to face with a stranger (a pretty, decidedly not-a-trespassing-stallion stranger) and skip the social pleasantries that so often define new interactions. He glances at what holds her attention: a rodent capering in an unnatural way, oblivious to the massive creatures staring down at it. His lip curls and he steps past it carefully, mindful of the distance between his hocks and its random, looping path as he puts himself firmly between her and the mouse. "It looks diseased. Move back," he suggests, motioning for her to back up, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the sickly creature.
If it is ill, he would be remiss as protector of this land and the herd within it to let it wander and spread its sickness elsewhere in the jungle. Better to handle it now, swiftly, before it can cause lasting harm. Temblor lifts a deliberate hoof and strikes. A second kick flings the lifeless body away with a confetti of leaf litter, the small body lost when it lands in the verdant growth off the trail. The contact had been quick, nothing worse than the snap of a small twig under his toe, but still Temblor must resist the urge to scrape his hoof clean. His dark eyes flicker over the white blazing the mare's face. "Better a quick death than that pointless suffering," he speaks gently, without apology, even as he moves forward to nudge his chest against her shoulder in a cautious bid to turn her away from the scene of that grisly moment.
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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