With time, Azrael’s misgivings about Paradise began to fade. Siren had initially seemed intent on causing friction between herself and his grandfather, Tyr, in the Ridge. But after several weeks of quiet had passed, Azrael began to relax, and eventually Siren stepped down entirely. He still hadn’t spoken to her successor, but the snowy pale stallion was aware that she was his cousin — their fathers had been brothers, but he had no idea if they had ever been close. Still, he was naively inclined to believe that because they were family, she was automatically trustworthy.
Azrael loved Paradise, and thought of it firmly as his home, but his young heart ached for adventure. With the lush jungle territory under new leadership, Azrael felt relaxed enough to slip away for a little bit. Most of his children were already born and thriving, and those who still waited to deliver had a few days yet before their foals arrived. The white-flecked stallion slipped into the sea, and made the calm but rather chilly swim to the Crossing.
Compared to the tropics, the central isle felt cold, and Azrael shivered a bit before his coat dried completely. He trotted happily through the landscape which wasn’t entirely unfamiliar — he’d been here once before — but was still wholly different from his home. It wasn’t the right time of year for the Commons to be crowded, so Azrael was mostly alone for the hour or so he spent sniffing about the deciduous trees and yellowish grass. It also meant that he noticed right away when someone else arrived.
Pale, smoke-tipped ears flick forward as a glimmer of gold moves in the corner of Azrael’s vision. He lifts his head, cerulean eyes catching the palomino mare as she appears to look over the Crossing with astonishment. She must be new to this island, and Azrael wonders what land she’s come from for her expectations of the Crossing to be so clearly dashed.
He lets out a friendly whinny and turns to wander her way. His movements are relaxed, curious, and generally harmless; he walks slowly, almost lazily toward her.
"Hello," he says politely, stopping close enough that she could reach him if she wanted to when he extends his muzzle in greeting.
"You look new here. Is there somewhere you’re trying to go? I can show you around, if you want." There isn’t a hint of shyness in his voice; Azrael, of course, thinks the golden mare is beautiful, but he sees so much beauty around him all the time that he’s rather used to interacting with it. She is the color of the beach at sunrise, white sand saturated with heavy golden light, and he admires her simply — without shame or lust, just appreciation.
"I’m Azrael," he says.
salt and shadow