Though there has been no shift in the tropical weather, Ivar is reminded by an especially bitter gust of wind that autumn has most certainly reached the mainland of Beqanna. The thick scales of the piebald creature are protective, but they are not much of a defense against the cold, so the tricolored kelpie has made his way into the interior of the mainland to escape the wind with haste.
There is no telling what time of day it is here among the redwoods. It might be midmorning or nearly dusk; the fog makes determining which all but impossible. Ivar knows he'd left his tropical home in the early afternoon, so he has at least a few hours before the woods are fully dark.
Overhead, a magpie caws loudly, and Ivar tilts his head to watch it with a sharp golden gaze. It takes off, wings beating rapidly against the wind, and the kelpie's attention returns to the earth. Though he has come inland, he knows where the sea is without conscious thought. This is fortunate, since the lack of sun makes determining direction nearly as impossible as telling time.
Ivar continues forward, ducking beneath low hanging branches as he treads paths that are almost familiar. Somewhere ahead is the border of Sylva, and it occurs to the tobiano stallion that this is not the first time (or even the second) that he has come to Taiga from the sea.
For a moment he pauses, his head half turned back to where the distant sea glistens unseen. When he finally returns his attention to the path ahead of him, Ivar catches a flicker of movement in the foggy woods ahead of him. He doesn't call out - he has learned his lesson, but instead flicks his ears forward and he breathes in the coniferous air.
There is no telling what time of day it is here among the redwoods. It might be midmorning or nearly dusk; the fog makes determining which all but impossible. Ivar knows he'd left his tropical home in the early afternoon, so he has at least a few hours before the woods are fully dark.
Overhead, a magpie caws loudly, and Ivar tilts his head to watch it with a sharp golden gaze. It takes off, wings beating rapidly against the wind, and the kelpie's attention returns to the earth. Though he has come inland, he knows where the sea is without conscious thought. This is fortunate, since the lack of sun makes determining direction nearly as impossible as telling time.
Ivar continues forward, ducking beneath low hanging branches as he treads paths that are almost familiar. Somewhere ahead is the border of Sylva, and it occurs to the tobiano stallion that this is not the first time (or even the second) that he has come to Taiga from the sea.
For a moment he pauses, his head half turned back to where the distant sea glistens unseen. When he finally returns his attention to the path ahead of him, Ivar catches a flicker of movement in the foggy woods ahead of him. He doesn't call out - he has learned his lesson, but instead flicks his ears forward and he breathes in the coniferous air.