It was nearly winter and the weather on Tinuvel was growing steadily worse. Already snow lay in a blanket an inch or two thick, dusting the world in frozen crystals and pure white. Soon the rivers would freeze over; soon Mariael would take the Bay herd deep into the mountains where they would live for months among the caverns beside the hot springs, surviving winters and going days without food. But the hard weather hadn’t come yet, so Mariael knew it was now or never – she’d made a promise she would travel to Salem and she intended to stick to it. Zevulun wanted to accompany her – Salem was the one island he’d yet to travel to – yet Mariael denied the company.
This she wanted to do alone.
As the sun began to dip low, Mariael took to the dark, frigid Tinuvel sea, splashing through the saltwater and swimming for the distant island of Salem. When she climbed ashore she merely stood, stunned, looking left, right, in front of her and seeing practically nothing. Tinuvel and Salem could not be further apart from one another if they tried. Everywhere she looked there was sand, a few clumps of thorny, dry brush and succulents, but little else. She’d been told it was cooler in the evening, which was why she arrived as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, but even still – Salem’s chill was nothing compared to what she was accustomed to, and Mariael found herself uncomfortably warm. Her thick, grown-in winter coat did little to help.
A quick trip, then. Mariael started off; following the direction she’d been supplied to take her to the herd run by the mare named Valve. The last thing she wanted to do was become lost on this foreign island.
The sand felt strange beneath her hooves. Mariael had walked beaches that were not Tinuvel’s small, dark pebble beach, but even the sand elsewhere seemed firmer than this. She had to be careful how she traveled, particularly walking up and down the great sandy dunes. Three times she found herself stopped atop a dune in surprise, looking down at the steep descent and having to turn about and find a safer way down.
Eventually (and thankfully), Mariael caught the brief scent of other horses on the wind and knew she must be drawing close. Through the dark she could see a sudden burst of foliage and it was so unexpected, she stilled in her tracks and stared openly. How could there be endless stretches of sand only to suddenly have a thick cropping of trees and bushes? They were strange plants to be sure – she’d never seen the likes of them before on Tinuvel – but they were plants all the same. She could smell the stale scent of water and her mouth, dry, screamed for the relief of a drink.
Mariael glanced about and moved forward, toward the shallow pool of water, taking note of the grooves of hoofprints in the muddy bank as she lowered her mouth and took a drink. Her nose wrinkled and she shook her head – so different was this stale, sulfur like water in comparison to the fresh running, snow-melt fed streams of Tinuvel. Still, water was water and she needed her fill. Mariael lowered her lips again and suckled, drinking enough to wet her dry throat before she lifted her head, little droplets falling from her lips, and looked around for what company would join her.
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