Mikhail had not been to the Lagoon in many, many years. And with good reason, he was reminded now. It was a terrible place to visit (and had been an even worse place to live). The stench of stale brackish water was an abomination in its own right, and its inhabitants were ― more often than not ― questionable in their morals and goals. And, from what he'd been told, it wasn't a pretty place; just a thousand shades of green and brown and black and the occasional blue all muddled together into one drab palette.

Not that he had the faintest idea of what these colors looked like ― the poor bastard had been near-blind his entire life ― but it didn't sound pleasant from the way others described it to him. Perhaps each individual color, in its own right, was beautiful... but when mixed together made something remarkably dull and awful to look at. He would never know and frankly, wasn't going to waste his time dwelling on the unachievable.

The milky-eyed stallion ambled his way along one of the main paths that cut through tangled underbrush and creeping vines on memory alone. He was surprised to find he still remembered which way the path turned, where to step over mossy logs and duck under half-fallen trees. Like himself, the Lagoon hadn't changed much since their departure nearly a decade ago.

He wasn't really sure what had drawn him back here in the first place. Boredom, probably. There was a distinct lack of excitement in his life. No woman to keep him warm, no family to care for, and his relationship with his son and brother were tenuous at best. There wasn't much tying him down to the Islands, and nothing to keep his attention for long. So it only seemed natural that his idle mind had turned to his home and began to wonder what, if anything, had changed.

Only one thing had, really.

The Lagoon was much quieter than he remembered; there was a distinct lack of chatter, no baritone hum as conspiring voices floated between the trees. Had the Lagoon's keepers been neglecting their duties? Or had everyone come to their senses and finally abandoned the wretched place? The thought managed to pull an amused snort from him as he paused under the shedding boughs of a might black willow, the susurration of its swaying branches his only company.

---

who knows upon what soil they fed
their hungry thirsty roots?

fifteen. georgian grande mutt. bay tobiano
of nowhere. blind. felony x zhenya. pippa.