†
Her stillness draws him.
Where others mutter and mill about, sweating in this fine summer heat, she stands alone, silent, her very posture a shout.
He should be getting back to Paradise, not making another detour, but Temblor can't help himself. He is compelled to pass through each of the common areas on the off-chance he might encounter another like-minded soul, and he cannot say he feels regret when his eyes fall on the tawny mare in the Meadow. The dappled stallion pauses, flicks his ears toward her. He doesn't see in her the flightiness of youth, but instead the steadfast dignity of a mare with experience.
Temblor turns from the trail and crosses the short-cropped meadow grass to meet her, favoring his right hip only a little. Resting his injured limb in the Commons had eased the ache, some, but he is still dreading the swim home. Perhaps because that jungle offers no real respite to the lone stallion. He takes refuge here, in the open air of this meadow, and whickers a greeting to the refined mare as he comes to stand before her.
He extends his dark nose in offering, nostrils flaring to exchange breaths, before pulling back into his own space. He regards her quietly for a long moment, then— "Good afternoon," he says. "I know lakeside can be crowded on days like these. But perhaps I can entice you to move into some shade?" He indicates the stand of trees at the far end of the meadow, their dark underbelly inviting, before he continues, "I am Temblor, of Paradise."
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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