Solomon

He would never understand Atlantis dwellers. Or Salem dwellers for that matter. Each time he visited, he found that he hated the sun just a little bit more, and craved the cool relief of the Cove anew.

Even now, as his lean figure emerges from the crashing surf, he can feel the sticky press of humidity that forces the moisture to cling to his coat. The heat of the land only added to the uncomfortable feeling and he snorted, bracing his limbs so that he could shake free of the worst of the saltwater.

Slowly his gaze raised to the towering monolith of the jungle before him. Like the Cove, the trees were tall and strong, testaments to the history of the land beneath his hooves. And yet, where the stark lines of his pine trees at home spoke volumes as to their strength, the vegetation here shrouded the strong limbs of the trees that stretched above. Everywhere he looked something different grew, riotous in color and variety.

He imagined it would be very easy to get lost in a place like this.

Solomon turns from these thoughts to scan the small stretch of beach upon which he stood, but finds no equines readily apparent. A small red figure turns from their spot on the Ridge to descend into the jungle, but he remains unperturbed. Neither of the women he has come to call upon sport red coats and thus, the girl holds none of his interest.

Instead, the lean tobiano strides just far enough that the ocean stops licking at his heels and calls out for the mares he once visited in the Meadow. Faolain with her heady mixture of regal aloofness and shy sweetness, and Cicek with her womanly charms. In truth, he imagines that his luck will be better with Cicek, if only because she is far easier to read and anticipate. She knows the dance between woman and stallion as well as he did, and he could all too easily imagine her striding from this dense jungle and fluttering her lashes at him once more. He would not steal her, as much as he desperately would like to, if only because he had far more pressing things on his mind.

The last thing he needed was the wrath of another herd leader.

Instead, he imagines that it will be Faolain that will emerge first. It is a conflicting thought for him, this desire to check on her well being. In truth, it is a largely selfish gesture. Bjorn's return meant that there was a chance he would come back for the Ridge. Granted, it was a small risk, all things considered. Solomon had not missed the stallion's heavy implication that he would be setting his sights on Tinuvel rather than Atlantis, but there was a possibility. And if there was a possibility that Faolain and Cicek would need a home to retreat to, he aimed to be the one to offer it to them.

As he waited, his muzzle dropped to the creeping vegetation that seemed determined to claim the sandy shore for itself. Beyond the scents of Faolain and Cicek lurked another that he was vaguely familiar with, although he could not immediately place the face or name. It is only after a long moment of introspection, as he turned over the various mares he'd interacted with in the Meadow and Falls that he lands on the name that he sought. Rivaini. She was here too? Had she gone with Bjorn all those months ago then?

Lost in thought, he stands quietly while he waited, searching the darkness between the trunks for those that he had called to him, or those that he had not.

OOC: Meant for Cicek / Faolain / Rivaini, but I am leaving it open as well <3 Sio, obviously, will not be taking part XD

Dutch Harness Horse Mutt | Champagne Grullo Tobiano Stallion | 17 Hands | The Cove