Now that the expectant mothers have become the mothers of newborns, his own Jah-Lilah included, Amet can take more comfort in his wishes to visit the territories that border his own home to the west. No longer dredged down by the worry that they may need his assistance ─ and quite promptly, at that ─ the dragonhide stallion leaves his red wytch with a small tug of her tousled mane and the promise of his return in a few days’ time. Masuda is not yet old enough to be away from his dam for any length of time greater than a few hours, forcing Amet’s hand to leave the young boy in Hyaline as he heads towards the western edge of their sanctuary home and towards Loess.
Thunderclouds rumble overhead and the dark sky promises rain. The electricity in the moist air causes his nostrils to flare and his mahogany tail to flick with involuntary agitation at mother nature’s threat; admittedly, he’s always been quite fond of thunderstorms, but it would seem that he is destined for a lifetime of prey instincts.
Kensa could have, perhaps, told the gilded stallion who the current ruler of Loess is ─ but if she had, he had forgotten who it was until his lithe akhal-teke frame summited the mountainous border of Hyaline and the scent of Castile soon began to mingle with saltbrush and the summer breeze. The corners of his lips turn upward with an unexpected smile. A long-ago friend, Amet had always been fond of Castile; their friendship had ruptured (though not violently) as politics and women oozed into the folds of their relationship, and despite this he is pleased that he will be chatting with a familiar face today.
It would seem that his return to Beqanna, just over a year ago now, would still be full of unexpected reunions.
Amet doesn’t venture far into the bosom of Loess, opting to remain above the foothills, closer to the border, on a fairly visible plateau so that he may not be taken for an intruder. From here, his bright amber eyes survey what unfolds before him and linger on a distant saltwater spring. He calls into the heavy air, his dragon-plated head upturned towards the promise of the storm, and listens to it reverberate, knowing full well that he will not need to wait long to be greeted by the son of Nayl.
─ don't get cut on my edges
@[Castile]