The Lost Islands
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Falls

Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.

Live through this lie
Posted on December 15, 2019 at 08:17:41 PM by S H A M WARI






Was I left behind?
Tell me, tell me I survived.


I couldn't remember the last time I'd been to the Crossing Isle. Trips like these felt so frivolous, given the current climate among the islands. My herd was robust enough. Every mare within my keep was pregnant, as were two others in the Forest. There was more than enough activity to keep me tied down in Luthien. But here I was.

I rose from the chilly waters on the shores of the Commons and wandered through the grassy valleys into the Meadow and then toward the Falls. I had no real destination in mind, other than keeping my honey brown eyes peeled for the likes of Primrose. Every day that passed without knowing my daughter's whereabouts, the more heartache I could see in her mother's eyes. Sanibel was suffering. And she had suffered enough. That guilt of what Rougaru had done to her still clung to my bones. There were mornings when I woke and couldn't bear the thought of having to look into the cream-colored mare's poor, melancholy eyes another time. I couldn't live with yet another round of disappointment. I had to find her.

My long, easy strides carry my copper-colored body to the bank of the great pool at the base of the Falls. I pause for a moment to take in the sight - a grand one that seemingly never got old, no matter how many times I'd passed by it over the years - before dropping my heavy head to the surface for a drink. It's there that I catch the hoarse call of another, just barely, over the roar of the water just feet away. I continue to drink as my eyes scan my immediate surroundings, and only lift my head once I'd had my fill. Two brown ears flick forward and at attention as I survey the terrain around me, catching sight of the two-toned stallion in the distance. Droplets from the remnants of my drink drip from the bottom-most point of my muzzle, and I lip lazily at them as I consider answering this stranger's call.

Finally, I do. My whiskered lips part and I shout out a baritone bugle of my own. My eyes are trained on the brute in the distance before trotting off at a two-beat gait to meet him. My thick mane laps at my neck as I move. As I approach, it's clear I've never seen this stallion before, but he reeks of Salem, an island that is no doubt, of familiarity to me. Given his build and the strong feathering of his legs, it seemed like an out-of-place home for the painted stallion. But who was I to judge.

"Hey there." I say in a friendly manner, as I approach but keep a respectable distance. I bob my head once I size him up. "What brings you to the Crossing Isle?"




Shamwari | Fresian Mutt | Evaline x Rook | Stallion | Chestnut | 15.3 h |
Half-brother to Kasabian, Vita Nova, Paradiso | Photo © Carina Mailwald | © Vinyl




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