Falls

When he awoke alone on the rocky shore, Iscariot was torn by uncertainty. Faolain had indicated that she would return for him, but the dark mare was nowhere in sight, and the fading trail of her scent led him away from the beach. The pale stallion hesitated at the point where sand began to mingle with soil, warring against his inclination to obey her command. For years he had allowed Rivaini to decide every course of their actions; the perlino had become too passive, too pliant. Isacariot's recent experiences had proven that he needed to be capable of acting as an individual instead of simply waiting around for someone else to tell him what to do. And deep within him, some greater instinct was stirring - a sense of responsibility, and an urge to guard the ones he loved.

Iscariot continued inland with strides that became more confident the longer he was in motion... and took the first steps towards becoming the leader he'd once been destined to be.

As the morning progressed, however, the creamy stallion's certainty - and strides - began to falter. He had been following Faolain's trail without incident at first, but as the snow deepened her scent became more and more difficult to discern. Finally - as Iscariot struggled through a particularly deep pocket of snow - the Andalusian male was forced to admit to himself that the current situation went beyond the scope of his capabilities. Chest heaving like a bellows, Iscariot paused to catch his breath in a clearing where much of the snow had already been swept away by others of his kind. The too-familiar pain had returned to his crippled limbs, but the stallion clung to it - relished it, almost - as a constant in his ever-changing world.

While he was resting, the perlino stallion contemplated his surroundings with a pair of eyes that were only a shade or two darker than the shards of sky visible overhead. The crystalline sculpture of the falls grabbed his attention first. As a native to more tropical climes, Iscariot had never seen anything of its like before and could not have concealed the naked wonder in his expression if he'd tried. After a few moments of staring, however, thirst began to assert itself and he edged toward the pool to slake it. A black mare grazed nearby, but Iscariot was careful to keep a respectful distance between their bodies; he was too familiar with the kind of damage his kind could inflict when their ire was raised.

Standing on the brink of the pool, Iscariot lowered the arch of his neck gracefully to immerse his lips in the cool liquid, and - smack. The stallion's head jerked back up in shock, and he reeled backwards a couple steps. From this safe vantage point, he glared dubiously at the apparent still surface of the water, chewing the air uncertainly. Iscariot didn't understand what had just happened; liquid had never behaved this way before. Burying his off-white ears in the sea of his slightly-darker mane, he took a wary step forward but didn't dare to move any closer than that.