From Tinuvel Reef returns to the Crossing. It is here she finally takes a much needed break, sheltering in the curve of some driftwood on the beach, nestled tight in the shaded sand as the summer sun bakes overhead. Here by the water there is at least a cool breeze carried in with the waves, and when she wakes from her nap the little blue roan mare is in no hurry to get up and go. She lies there under the shade of the great, gnarled trunk and considers fondly everyone she's been fortunate enough to meet so far on her travels, already planning a return trip to each of them— a longer visit to each island, this time, too.
Before that, however, she will travel south. There is still time for her to complete her goal of visiting each island before the year is out. What awaits her at the southernmost edge of this archipelago? She has seen climates both temperate and tropical, as well as arctic. It seems reasonable to expect someplace dry and dusty, and perhaps hotter than even here. Later, when the sun goes down and the heat here on the Crossing is not so bad, she will continue her explorations and plunge southbound into the sea to confirm her hypothesis.
On this fine afternoon, however, she is content to drowse under the shadow of her driftwood, watching sunlight glint off the waves and amusing herself by watching the flock of little sandpipers that bustle up and down the tideline. They shrill to one another as the water chases them up the beach, and then they hush as they all follow the water back down and peck at the sand, pulling up something she'd rather not think about as they make a quick meal between each beat of the tide. Back and forth they go, busy with their little lives, intent on their noon-meal ritual with the sea. |