Meadow

The little wolf did not know how far she had traveled to get to the shore. All she knew was that the terrain had changed drastically over the months, from desert to mountains, from mountains to steppes, from steppes to a great rocky drop over which she now stood. The slope was not vertical, and with Faolain’s petite figure and tiny hooves she was able to make the descent without complications, but towards the bottom the rocks were slippery and treacherous and with great frustration the little wolf had to slow her pace and be careful. Faolain was generally calculated and not necessarily impulsive, but she hated going slow.

Agitated grey waves battered the stones at the base of the slope and when the black mare reached them, she strode confidently into their hungry, foaming mouths, her slender body almost immediately being hoisted away as the ocean swallowed her. What she did for the next few hours might not necessarily qualify as swimming, but she did her best to keep course through the churning waters, and at the very least she did not drown before washing up on the Crossing’s shore.

The swim had taken an enormous amount of energy, but Faolain had energy to spare. The little wolf shook herself off and kicked up sand as she took off into the trees. Head high and nostrils flared, she was driven to cover the island as fast as possible, to learn of its inhabitants and to pick up the scent of any possible predators. She wasn’t worried about alerting anyone or anything in her travels across the island; Faolain was a wiry little fighter, not very strong but incredibly fast.

The cold might have reached her if she stopped moving, and eventually she did, when she nearly ran into another small mare. The little wolf skidded to a halt, sliding in the grass, front hooves leaving the ground for a moment before stepping lightly down on the churned up frost. In some ways she looked similar to Faolain. Their builds were light and lean and long, but Faolain’s face was flat where the other mare’s was curved. For a split second the black mare studied the paler one, wondering whether she would turn and strike out at Faolain’s rather rude approach. “My apologies,” she said, her voice deep and thickly accented. Her breath was billowing from her flared nostrils in heavy clouds of steam, and in her restlessness she did not notice the second mare to the other side of the first one. She was tense, entirely expecting to be punished for the near-collision, but Faolain was feeling good from the swim and the run and was not particularly bothered by the possibility of a fight. Still, as a brand new face to this island, she knew picking fights was unwise, and she dipped her head to the mare she had nearly run over to show that her apology had been genuine.

i heard him howling
as he passed me by