One trip before the seasons turned and winter arrived.
Mariael glanced back at her home and then at the dark ocean waters of Tinuvel lapping the dark pebble beach at her hooves. This year Crossing Isle had not seen the Queen of Tinuvel’s Bay (also the self-proclaimed Queen of Tinuvel as a whole) and guilt gnawed her stomach for it. She tried to tell herself she was more focused on home matters and family kept close, but Mariael knew the truth of the matter. She simply loathed leaving her island for any period of time. She could simply rely on her brother, Zevulun, who spent spring through autumn skipping from island to island when he wasn’t at home with her. If any were going to recruit for the Bay or listen to the gossip between the islands, Zevulun would be best suited for the task.
But Mariael always had difficulty relying entirely on others. She may stretch herself thin, but she couldn’t allow herself to be thought of as too lazy or less of a leader because she wouldn’t do everything she could for the betterment of the Bay.
Into the waters she went and their ice-cold temperature stung into her skin, ripping through her muscles as if intending to grasp her very bones. Mariael didn’t mind it – not truly – for she was born of Tinuvel and survived the worst winters a horse could imagine. The cold was simply who she was.
She swam, kicking her lightly feathered legs and propelling her body through the waves, neck stretched, and head kept above water.
The ocean dribbled from her coat (already grown thick in preparation for the upcoming winter) as she walked, dotting the sandy shoreline at her hooves. Immediately her ears twisted back, and she snorted, sending droplets of residual water from her nostrils. Even with cool autumn winds, Crossing Isle felt stuffier than Tinuvel (or perhaps it was her bias actively at work). Shaking, Mariael set her mood right, knowing it would not bode well for her to storm about with a more aggressive stance, particularly not if she wanted to try and learn what news the islands held, or meet new faces which may be seeking a home.
Not everyone was meant for Tinuvel, but Mariael would come to that conclusion whenever she crossed paths with someone.
In days past, the Meadow was known to be a danger for mares to travel to during breeding season. It was no longer this way, but she knew stallions might be prowling, hopeful to catch a mare unaware without a foal growing in her belly so they might spread their blood in the world. Mariael shook her head and nearly rolled her eyes at the thought of a stallion assuming she’d be a vessel for their child. She’d like to see them try.
In the distance a stallion of golds and blacks wandered. Mariael paused to watch him as he walked, studying his pace and general nature. He could be anyone – a newcomer, a Lagoon bachelor, or even a stallion whose claimed an empty expanse of land on one of the islands. In other words, he was exactly the sort of individual she’d do well to greet and speak with.
Nickering in a low, beckoning rumble, Mariael started toward him, ears pointed forward and blue eyes watchful. She observed for any sign of aggression or attitude which would tell her to stay away but felt there was none and was confident enough to approach with an easy smile. As always, she held her head proudly high; a queen in every right.
“Hello, I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.” A pause. “I am Mariael, Queen of Tinuvel.”
A nagging thought pricked at her mind – could she call herself queen if she wasn’t certain her neighbor would abide by her ruling?
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