The closer he got to Tinuvel, the colder the water and the more he had to gasp for his breath. Gnome hadn’t visited it before, but he knew its location and had heard tell of the bitter wind and arctic temperatures. He wondered if Xiomara had been surprised when he’d left her behind and started in the proper direction on his own. He’d gotten rather irritated with the mare at first, but as he swam he pondered her strength. Much had changed if mares were now claiming stallions. Was she the lead mare to a stallion or did she lead a herd on her own? Ultimately it did not matter to Gnome, who knew from experience that mares could be just as strong as stallions in every way. He rather admired them, but he still would prefer to be given respect as an individual.

He washed up on the rocky shore of Tinuvel, and gasped again. The wind whisked across his wet body, chilling him to the bone. But what really took his breath away was the beauty of this island. Stands of evergreen trees looked over rocky swells of land dotted with sparse tufts of drying grass. There was some snow blanketing the ground, and a few flurries flew through the air. He’d never expected such a landscape could exist.

He continued inland, following the faint scent of the blue roan mare who’d told him to come. It wasn’t as strong as he’d expected, which surprised him. There was a lingering masculine odor that made him think Xiomara’s reign was rather recent. He supposed he would find out what the dynamics were soon enough. For the time being, he stopped atop a small knoll and stared across a clearing, waiting for the roan, or anyone really, to greet him.

Gnome