A winter sun dangled low in the sky. Its light cast misshapen shadows of palm fronds across the contours of a dark pelt. The stallion grazed lazily. His lips pulled up half-mouthfuls of lush grass, and, intermittently, the stallion was treated to juicy burstings of the sweetest purple fruit he'd yet to come across. Carthage wasn't sure if the fruit was a regular across the islands, but he'd tried it before when he had lived in Paradise. He didn't have a word for the sweet treat. As such, he did not discuss it and kept the fruit a secret for himself a little longer. His chin was still wet with it when Carthage went in search of water.
His mind filled, as he walked, with a myriad of things. Clio was in the Lagoon and presumably growing round, once more with child. Though not their first, this child was no less important than the others, no less full of potential to do or be something of note in this world of theirs. He'd been present for the births of their other children, and Carthage was intent on bringing Clio back before she was due to give birth. Maybe teach that upstart a lesson while he was at it. Once the riverbed pooled around his fetlocks, Carthage lowered his head and drank long and deep. The curly strands of his mane dangled, toying with the water's surface. He was at ease here in the heart of his kingdom, calm and unharried.