U
nder the moon's silvery glow, his icy blue eyes scanned the curve of her brow, then followed the white stripe down her face to her trembling muzzle. He shifted, a tremor running through his tangled mane as he cocked a hind hoof, his hip dipping slightly as he prepared to talk.
She commented on the growing chill that permeated the meadow, once warmed by sunlight. He nodded, a shiver rippling down his spine as she voiced the cold he also felt.
Admitting she had not seen this place in daylight, her words pulled his gaze from her to the vast meadow.
"It is a meadow, much like any you would see on any other island," he mused.
"The crossing is
unremarkable, especially compared to the rugged Badlands, the sweeping mountains of Tinuvel, or even the verdant jungles of Atlantis." His gaze returned to her.
"There are many islands here, each with its own enduring qualities."
He tilted his brow, a flick of his tail across his haunches accompanying his next words:
"I am Sigurdr, King of the Badlands. Though," he chuckled, mostly to himself,
"it's not as scary as it sounds."
He paused, then continued,
"I'm assuming this is your first time on the islands... I hope you plan to stay?" The question hung in the air, a subtle command disguised as curiosity.
