This is what he heard, back in the meadow? It seems impossible. The waterfall isn’t that big. Sure, it falls a long way down a sheer cliffside, but the pool it slams into over and over and over again is quite calm further away from the impact point. Trell expected a river’s rage to continue the roar of the falls. Instead he gets this: something that’s all talk and no action.
Boring.
The Kiger Mustang turns away from the waterfall and its passive pool with a disdainful flick of his black tail, then stalks away from it so that its noise is not so oppressive to his ears. This seems to be a gathering place of some sort, he notes as he moves. Horses cluster together in little pods, un-herdlike. He sees many introducing themselves to one another, necks stretched to trade breaths. Everyone seems so happy and nice.
Boring.
He stops in an open area —there are horses around, near enough to eavesdrop on but still remain excluded from their conversations— and props one hind hoof up on its tip. He lets his body relax and tips his ears outward as his eyelids droop. He intends to appear to be half-asleep, leaving just enough line of sight for himself to detect anyone approaching while his ears focus without appearing to be focused on the conversations around him.
He’s interested in hearing what these islands have to offer him. |