Thunder rolls steadily in the distance, coaxing out of the summer air a thick swath of fog. It coils and rolls around the trunks of the pine trees, spilling over ferns and flowers, combing through the tall grasses of the Bay meadow. Fell trots through it, leaving a wake of disturbed mist and clear air twisting and whorling behind him. He is headed for the beach to gauge the storm.

The fog spills viscously out of the trees and begins to disperse in the open air, cut away by the ocean breeze. Fell emerges from the forest, a few rolling dunes of beach grass separating him from the flat sand of the shore, and he spots at the edge of the surf a familiar shape. It’s the playful, silent blue mare who had braved the ocean to come here with him seasons ago, whom he had taken to calling Sky in his head until he learned her name.

He plods over the dunes, through the sharp beach grass and onto the chilly gray sand of the shore toward her. She’s looking in the direction of the storm as well, and her expression looks almost hopeful. He wonders if she wants it to storm, but he must admit, the cool breeze from those dark clouds is a pleasant whisper through his mane. Maybe he wants it to storm after all, as well.

He greets the painted mare with a little snort as he slows to a walk and halts close by. His half-ear flicks as the breeze, strengthening, sends a lock of his mane to tickle it. Fell reaches out to Rim, his nostrils fluttering in a silent whicker, to brush affectionately against her cheek if she’ll let him. It really does look like rain, he thinks, and wonders how bad it would really be to get stuck out here in it. The rest of the herd knows to shelter in one of the wide, shallow caves close to the Cove’s border, so he doesn’t need to tend to them if the rain hits. In a pinch, the blue mare and himself can dart into the shelter of the trees, if the downpour turns out to be more trouble than it’s worth.

FELL

stallion. 16hh. black. marwari x. Rougaru x visurix.