†
Intending to pace, his eyes instead catch on Celestine. The rain has dulled the white of her hide and darkened her ashen body, and her pale mane clings unevenly to her neck. He halts, stiff-legged. Though no foal shadows her, it is impossible to miss the heavy bag at her loins, and he turns to look out over the agitated ocean to hide the frown that creases his mouth. He can hardly fault her for a pregnancy well underway by the time they met, but irritation ripples through him all the same.
Patience, he counsels himself, and smooths his expression before facing her. When she speaks, his eyes sweep past her to pick apart the shadowy haze under the trees. He wonders how far away the foal is, then shakes the thought free as his gaze snaps back to Celestine. It isn't her fault there's a bastard loose in his jungle. Anyone with eyes could have seen she was pregnant; he didn't have to challenge for her.
And yet, he did. Once having seen her, Temblor could no more have passed her over than he could ignore the rain that soaks him now. She stirs something primal in him. He welcomes it, and walks toward her now so they needn't call out over the drumming that surrounds them. "I don't mind the rain," he replies, skirting the latter half of her question, reminding himself that his ambitions cannot possibly be achieved overnight— and certainly not with anyone who has two feet entrenched in another life. "Do you?"
Atlantis is unlike the Crossing in both climate and the creatures which populate it. He wonders if she's encountered the rest of the herd, and what those interactions might have looked like. He can well imagine Sonorae's reaction, but it is Shiloh, sweet and copper-toned, whose image hangs in his mind. What he wouldn't give to be slung up in the canopy like a sloth to bear witness such a meeting.
"Tell me, now that you've been here for some time. What do you think of Paradise?" Temblor has never been one for banter, that coy back-and-forth that some horses seem to thrive on, at least not with those he does not know well. And Celestine is a stranger still, for all that he is impressed by her, one he plucked like a fruit from a forbidden tree. He knows little of her in any way that matters, only what drives his own ambitions.
He can desire all he wants a partner to complement his dance, one as comfortable in the slow sway of a lover's embrace as spinning to the end of his extended hand in a spirited step, a partner whom he is confident will to him return. But there is the danger of another waiting in the wings, the gardener himself, perhaps, ready to cut in and twirl Celestine away. She's admitted as much to him on the beach when he first brought her here, and if she's not interested in what Temblor has to offer, then what he wants won't matter, no matter how long he holds her here.
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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