It’s humid here, the air deceptively heavy with moisture, and that combined with the sunlight bearing down upon his pale back poofs up Kendry’s feathers and hair as they dry. He can’t recall having visited this island before and he wonders now how his mother ever stood for this kind of heat. At least at the Lagoon there’s pools of freshwater to idle in and plenty of shade. He’s never felt so ridiculous in all his life.
He snorts and gives up on smoothing the hair on his legs, lifting his head in time to catch the approach of another horse, a stallion walking like one of his legs pains him and sporting signs of old and fresh wounds. Kendry flips his ears toward the dark and underwhite male and returns his greeting with a low whicker. “I’m looking for someone,” he replies. It’s been a long time since Kasabian was alive and running things in the Lagoon, and longer since the former Boss had called this territory his home—he’d consider himself lucky if this stallion had been the one to claim the Ridge following the buckskin’s departure.
“Tall woman, little warmer in color than me but more or less the same build,” Kendry continues. “I know it’s a long shot, but any chance you’ve seen someone like that around? Maybe heard mention of her? Her name’s Marlena,” he adds with a bob of his head. |