In the long run, Icicle Isle means nothing to him.
He leaves the land as easily as he had come—by swimming the narrow channel that separates the isle from the rest of Beqanna, arriving on the coast somewhere between Nerine and Taiga. He does not fear the plague as he straddles the border of the two kingdoms on the way to the Meadow, and though it takes him most of the day and part of the night to arrive in the neutral grounds, he is no wearier than when he began as he settles along the edge of the Meadow.
The final vestiges of the illness that had taken ahold of him have finally faded away, and he feels stronger than ever as he flexes his new ability. He watches the grass under his hooves wither away with a mere thought and can’t help but to smile darkly. It is not much of a power, he has to admit, but the things he could learn to do with it... he could eventually destroy all of the flora within an entire kingdom with merely a thought. Death escapes him, so it’s not like he would need it to survive anyways. He could gather the gifted, the immune; these thoughts of his are delicious and his eyes shine feverishly.
He is not alone long, however—no one is ever alone long in these parts. He hears the hooves shuffling behind him and turns, eyes falling on a girl who’s color is indistinguishable from the inky darkness. He cannot tell her age by looking at her, but she is lanky enough to be younger than his newest granddaughter—though all of the horses in his family are so heavily built, who is to be completely sure?
“Hello,” he says gruffly, tossing his head to clear his tangled forelock from his eyes. “What do you want?”
OXYTOCIN
I don't have my head on straight
@Starsin