11-04-2018, 09:25 AM
The piebald kelpie has done a rather spectacular job of avoiding the Brotherhood for the past three years.
His success is due mostly to two things: the shrinking activity of the Krakens and Ivar’s careful avoidance of the one creature in Beqanna that he does not want to cross. While Ivar still holds that in a fair fight he would be victorious, he is also fond of his own skin and does not desire a rematch with the Ischian king.
He had heard the summons, felt the message that the magician gave to all the residents of their tropical land. He’d also seen the herd of purple where it huddled on the shores of not-distant Island Resort, and tasted the water between Nerine and the frozen northern island enough to know that some of the women have fled to safety. He is uncertain what the rest of Beqanna is doing, but the kelpie is not afraid of a plague.
Foolish, perhaps, but truthful.
The sapphire blue, gold, and white creature stands in the shallows of the northernmost lake on the main island. This is not a place he has been before, and with the shift of the worlds he wonders if anyone has. With the last colors of Brennen’s mental message refusing to fade, the kelpie plunges his head beneath the water. There, with eyes closed and water stream from the gills along his neck, he is able to clear his head. A minor ache remains, but at least all he sees is his own reflection surrounded by the impossibly blue sky.
A crack in the undergrowth behind him is a second warning of someone’s approach. His ears had already swiveled backwards at the scent, but now he turns to look over his shoulder.
His success is due mostly to two things: the shrinking activity of the Krakens and Ivar’s careful avoidance of the one creature in Beqanna that he does not want to cross. While Ivar still holds that in a fair fight he would be victorious, he is also fond of his own skin and does not desire a rematch with the Ischian king.
He had heard the summons, felt the message that the magician gave to all the residents of their tropical land. He’d also seen the herd of purple where it huddled on the shores of not-distant Island Resort, and tasted the water between Nerine and the frozen northern island enough to know that some of the women have fled to safety. He is uncertain what the rest of Beqanna is doing, but the kelpie is not afraid of a plague.
Foolish, perhaps, but truthful.
The sapphire blue, gold, and white creature stands in the shallows of the northernmost lake on the main island. This is not a place he has been before, and with the shift of the worlds he wonders if anyone has. With the last colors of Brennen’s mental message refusing to fade, the kelpie plunges his head beneath the water. There, with eyes closed and water stream from the gills along his neck, he is able to clear his head. A minor ache remains, but at least all he sees is his own reflection surrounded by the impossibly blue sky.
A crack in the undergrowth behind him is a second warning of someone’s approach. His ears had already swiveled backwards at the scent, but now he turns to look over his shoulder.