you shouldn’t walk where the hemlock grows

Faolain watches as the dun stallion reaches for the jagged branch protruding from his skin. He can touch it, but no more than a graze, probably not even enough to cause him additional pain. The black mare tilts her head in an avian gesture of curiosity; it makes sense now, why he had not yet removed the offending shard. It doesn’t appear to be too deeply stuck, and might even eventually come out on its own, but such a waiting game is uncertain and certainly invites infection. Not to mention the chances of jabbing the thing further into Cerauno’s hide, by bumping it against a tree or rolling onto it in his sleep. Better to take care of it now.

Faolain does not need to offer her assistance, though she would have if her companion had not asked outright. She appreciates his straightforwardness, and offers him a simple nod before approaching to examine the wound. Her small muzzle hovers close enough to his fur that her whiskers surely tickle him, but she doesn’t move very much; instead, her lips explore the branch delicately, putting almost no pressure against it to avoid causing him unnecessary pain. When she is satisfied with her examination, she grasps the branch in her teeth and yanks it out. The motion is quick, like that of a dog stealing a bone from beneath the nose of its companion, and she dances away from Cerauno with the same speed in case he lashes out instinctively. She doubts he will be intentionally aggressive toward her, but she had certainly just caused him notable discomfort and she would not blame him for reacting physically, even if he didn’t mean to.

Somewhat proud of herself, Faolain drops the stick and bends to look at it, nosing it along the ground. She can see length that was embedded by the line of blood staining the surface, and she snorts empathetically; that definitely had to hurt. ”Did you feel that going in?” she asks, certain it should have stood out among the rest of the bumps he endured in the fall. She hears the stamp of his hoof, but not the hiss of pain that accompanies it, and assumes he is still suffering the removal of the shard. She can only hope she got it over quickly; there was no way it was going to come out without a sting.

When he asks about a river in which to clean off, Faolain lifts her head once again, abandoning the stick and turning her attention back to the dun stallion. She chuckles dryly at the thought of him scaring off the herd. ”Don’t flatter yourself, they’ve all seen worse,” she jokes in return, but then she nods, sending her small muzzle in the direction of the lake. ”There’s a spring in this valley that feeds several streams. One of them drops off in a little water fall down part of the cliff. It is secluded, if you’d like me to show you; the path is not too steep.” While Faolain might be able to suffer through an unfriendly climb with the soreness in her limbs, she does not particularly want to, and she doubts Cerauno does either, but luckily this particular path zigs in such a way that it is fairly gentle, though longer to walk. She gives the Fjord stallion a moment before turning into the jungle, leading him along a less-worn path toward the cliffs.

The island of Atlantis rises toward the Ridge’s peak unevenly. The South of the island is relatively even and flat, but as one walks North along the beach, the land beside them becomes steeper and stonier. At the very Northern tip of the island, there is no beach, only a flat cliff face soaring straight up to the peak out of the waves. The waterfall Faolain spoke of is closer to the Eastern beach, where the incline is not so severe, and vegetation still grows along the jagged rocks. She steps carefully along the path as the jungle opens up, and the ground begins to slope away from them, falling smoothly down toward the sea with only twisted and short vegetation to soften the mountainside. The ground is sturdy despite the dizzying open air, and they encounter no loose stones or uneven ground along the way. The path cuts sharply to the side a few times before Faolain begins to hear rushing water, and soon the little waterfall comes into view.

It’s a pretty spot. The ground beneath the fall juts out over the sea, providing enough flat earth for a tiny meadow. It is a bright green spot in the otherwise grayish landscape of the mountainside, and the stream above cascades into a little pool before spilling out again and continuing down the incline.

Faolain halts at the edge of the green and snags a few bites of grass. It’s tougher here, but still nutritious, and she continues into the little meadow to make room for Cerauno. ”The water might sting a bit, and I’m sure it’s cold, but blood and dirt don’t stand a chance.”

mare | black | 14hh | akhal-teke