†
Once, it had been a self-righteous rage which filled him, a cold, contempt-filled competence which led him to his neighbor's doors each time they challenged him. He'd taken tit for tat, as had the others, and so they had traded amongst themselves the choicest mares of their herds, coming together often to batter at one another in an attempt to acquire for themselves one more member for their herd. Only one mare among his band would have driven Temblor to fight directly for her, but she had remained at his side, apparently escaping the notice of the stallions whose envious eyes traveled as freely as his own gaze did. At least, so he had thought.
He shakes his head and steps out of the dark jungle and onto the beach just as night has begun its slow sweep over the sky. The lingering sunset is warm and cozy, its array of colors layering calm overhead, but below the stallion vibrates with a restlessness without reprieve. It isn't rage that spikes adrenaline through him as his thoughts wind themselves into an agonized frenzy of unknowing, but fear. It is new to him. Temblor does not like it, does not know how to hold it: somewhere in the depths behind him is evidence of his upset, a swath of undergrowth destroyed by trampling hooves and raging kicks, bark scored on a number of trees and his own hooves chipped from his private rampage. The jungle had borne quiet witness.
The air off the ocean cools him and he twitches his sweaty hide. Bits of foliage fall from his broad back, and a quick toss of his mane confirms there's at least one twig tangled in his gray hair. His eyes roll too far, showing white when he swings his head to survey his beach, and even though it is a preposterous hope he is still disappointed that neither Shiloh nor the stallion who took her await him on his shores. He doesn't know where Rougaru took her —no one knows where the stallion has hidden himself during his extended absence from the Isles— and is loathe to waste time blindly searching each island. He curses himself for his wasted jaunts to the Crossing when he should have been navigating the territories on the islands nearest him. Then he might have a starting point, at least.
Distracted by his indecision and ignorance, Temblor paces down the beach, neck taut and head held at a stiff height as his strides gouge the sand, dark eyes focused inward as the first scattered stars wink coldly into existence. His path carries him swiftly down the shoreline, aware on some level of the incoming tide and, not too far ahead now, the pale silhouette of another horse. This last registers belatedly, the figure brought suddenly to life on his next indrawn breath. The dappled gray's eyes snap into focus, narrowing his world abruptly to contain only this figure with her head lowered toward the waves rippling up the beach. She derails his endlessly circling thoughts and he seizes on this opportunity to keep his anxiety at bay, planting his hooves abruptly in the sand.
"You are not of Atlantis," he observes, nostrils flaring to confirm that she smells of mostly just herself and the sea. His ears twist, seeking to expel his restlessness through other motions now that his legs have, for the time being, stilled. A tremor shudders over his dappled pelt as his anxieties seek a suitable outlet. Though it is a long shot, he can't help but hope that this stranger may have knowledge of the whereabouts of the erstwhile ruler of Paradise and, thus, which island is now graced by Shiloh's elegant self. If not, he will soon be forced to travel systematically between the islands in search of her. His eyes track across her damp face and his tone softens as he adds, "From whence have you come?"
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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