The Lost Islands
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A Mystic’s Myth or Fable…

Ailill
Cream Gold Champagne Sabino : Lord of Paradise : LydenXTaytim


Wide-eyed and curious about the land he claimed his, Ailill was still a stranger to the trails and jungles. They moved from the beach, his feet taking him instinctively down the path Macabre led him on. His blue eyes gazed around in wonder and fascination. In the weeks he had been here he had explored merely the surface of Paradise. Learning just the superficial and well traveled trails. He understood the necessity of having a deeper understanding of his home, the secrets it held. These things would come in time, but following the tracks of someone who has been there before, and quickly learning from their experience was not an opportunity to be lost. The sights and sounds were so strange compared to the mountains, he had very little time to learn what they all meant.

“It was the first place I found that did not smell of another stallion.” He answered cheerfully, trotting around her and in her wake. “Mother said I would need to leave the Peak, but she did not want me to go to the Lagoon. So I came here.” The colt paused his prancing to sniff at a brightly colored frog, which peered back at him through its huge eyes. Flicking his ears curiously at it, Ailill let his attention be engrossed by the bright colors before looking up and seeing that a moss covered face peered back at him just as he had been peering at the frog. Light gold head tilted at the stony stare before he continued his venture with Macabre. “I was raised in the Peak, with my mother, sister, and the Vulcans.” His voice was proud, as was his head. Many would have thought being raised in the realm of women would have been a sign of weakness. The colt considered it a badge of honor. He saw the strength in the feminine power and wisdom in their minds. Growing up with the Vulcans gave him a deep sense of respect for mares, though sometimes his playfulness would get in the way. Besides, if he were to ever be disrespectful towards a mare, he knew his sister would find him and pound him into the ground.

Hooves squelching in the mud, he continued to follow his guide, eyes still trying to take in everything. They passed the falls, one of the obvious features of Paradise, a trait that he had discovered on his superficial explorations. At last the came to the purpose of his venture with the chestnut mare. Secrets of the land that only a longer-term resident would have known. An air of seriousness came over the boy and he stepped into the shadows of the caves. He investigated the area, trying to see how many would be able to fit in the creavases, and if any would be left out in the rain if the herd grew large. A soft snort was released and he stepped back out, exploring the surrounding area to see if there was any other available shelter. Ambitious, though not knowing it yet, something about the word ‘several’ irked him. In a colt’s mind the word he wanted was ‘lots’, in a stallion’s mind it translated to ‘as many as he could keep track of.’ It was the stallion’s mind that had the youth poking around, counting the spaces and shelters he was sure he would eventually pace in a storm.

“Are there any others?” His voice was surprisingly grown when he looked back at Macabre inquisitively.
html by dante!


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