The up-and-over way is unclear, and for all his bravado, Belgarath is unwilling to try and get himself killed on some sort of silly expedition that will not benefit him. The only way he will risk his own neck is if there’s something to gain from it. So out of Pangea he goes, heavy hooves pounding the ground at a brisk pace. No need to hurry - he imagines that the mountains will still be there whenever he returns (be it weeks or months or years). He has nothing to hold him back - and nothing to goad him forward, save for his own boredom and greed and ambition.
Around the much larger Mountain he goes, scowling up at where he imagines the spirit of Beqanna lives (that bitch - what had he ever done to her?), through the Meadow, and then past the Field. It takes him some time to get past the common lands, but when he does, he finds the earth itself to be vastly different. How… interesting. The air grows more heavy with every step, as if it were heated from the ground itself. The ice-beast in him loathes it. Sweat already drips from Belgarath’s neck, and he is almost surprised to find the spring cool… when it is giving off steam. Huh. There is some funky magic at work here.
The land itself is quiet… so very, very quiet. There is nary a soul in sight, nor smell, nor signs of life. If there were paths made in the lush grass, they are beginning to be overtaken by nature again. He snorts, and a devious smirk slinks across his lips. This could all be his… it beats the hell out of waiting for some self-proclaimed God to give them what they ask for. With water dripping from his whiskers, he leans down to scratch the front of a leg with the curve of his newly sprouted ice-blue devil horns. The wind blows gently through the high grasses, and when Belgarath lifts his head to scan the horizon, he still finds it empty. But the faintest sound of a stallion’s voice reaches his ears, as if one were speaking very loudly. It is a singular voice, however, and without even a whisper to tell him otherwise, Belgarath turns towards it.
Somewhere more towards the center of the land, the source of the mysterious voice is identified. A lone stallion, marked by scars (oh, a worthy adversary!) and weary eyes, but otherwise alllllllll by himsellllllllf.
Even Belgarath knows you can't be a leader without followers - and yet the dappled monster does not pause to wonder if anyone would ever want to follow him. Harmonia may or may or may not be with him; he doesn't take the little golden mare for granted, and does not count on her support right now. It would be nice. But he's never relied on the aid of females (he's also never met one that he knows can beat him - so that will be an interesting little discovery later on). If he had hands, the asshole would pop out from behind a tree and start an obnoxious slow clap, applauding the man for this well-worded and motivational speech, claiming to be so inspired by his heartfelt words. Too bad no one was there to hear them.
“Bravo - Bravo, I say! It's a shame all your friends aren't here to see how strong a leader you are.” Bel takes a few more steps forward, beginning to loom over the buckskin leader with almost a full two hands advantager. “What does it say about you, that no one has answered your call? It's been hours, and I'm the only one around… you should probably just quit now. Let me take it from here.”
Or, they could do it the hard way and they could fight it out. At least that would be exciting, and something to do.
belgarath
Permission from Kortnee to challenge Magnus
Sorry dear!
@[Harmonia]