The rains have not stopped for several days, and Isoke is soaked to the bone, her black and white pelt having not had a moment's respite from the damp. But it's a refreshing sort of feeling. It's as if, with the rains, have come a new life. The ridge is her home now, in all its mountainous, humid, green glory - at least for the time being - and it feels right. It had been her childhood home, and now she has returned. Possibly for good, though we'll see what Morgan thinks first.

She knows as well, from experience, that the snows will never reach this place come winter. It will rain and rain and rain some more, but Atlantis is a tropical island, and Isoke's treasured crippled daughter, Brienne, will be safe from climatory extremes here. She needs stability. She needs a place where she does not need to know fear like I have.

The pale gold-and-white filly is at her side now, looking at her with huge blue eyes from behind her crooked snout as they stand at the beach's edge beneath a light drizzle. The poor girl is soaked to the bone too, but she seems not to mind. Isoke nibbles the yearling's pale crest before gazing out across the damp beach and to the grey, rolling waves beyond. Morgan is around here somewhere, she knows. Perhaps she's avoiding me because she knows what I'm going to ask of her. She almost chuckles at such a silly thought.

"Morgan," she calls out in a sing-song as Brienne leans against her to combine their body heat.

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i s o k e
mustang // five // Ee aa nO // 14.3 // shiva
the dragon x alora