Falls

the air was still: too still.

he itched, the way many do, when in want of something more. he came to the isles with thoughts of adventure and flavours of glory hanging on his lips. the gunslinger found himself languishing in the quiet ebb of the lagoon and thus, went in search of something better.

his eyes were set on the future, firmly rested on reinvigorating his existence with the paltry politics lent to their breeding. gilead had bloomed in the feral expanses of the mainland, just as anyone else; though, the more lawless provinces offered him better exuberance. he felt him self aging fast since joining the island. he felt himself growing stagnant, which only further fanned the flames of his impetuous nature.

the rampallian stretched his stride as he followed the low rumbling of the falls, allowing something of a canter as though it would serve to drive the blood harder, hotter, through his veins. of course, such calisthenics only provided so much, and it was his hope the falls would provide even the smallest morsel of entertainment.

if not, at least a more primitive thirst would be satiated.