He doesn’t know where exactly he is journeying to, but he does know that he longs to be there. Maybe it is a quiet and desolate place where he can only hear the murmur of the ocean’s waves in his ears, where he can spend his time alone with himself without others near him. It possibly could be an overcrowded place, this Pangea, but Maugrim doesn’t mind having to scare a few spectators if it meant leaving him alone; that’s what he’s done so far in his young life and it has worked each time. He follows Azazelle obediently, but only because she had something that he wanted. There was an obvious lack of conversation as the two young horses travelled together – whether it was because the journey itself was taxing on their bodies or if it was because Azazelle couldn’t get a straight reading from the two-toned colt beside her, Maugrim didn’t know. Nor did he care. He was only thankful that she decided not to bother him.
When they finally arrive, Maugrim’s dark eyes take in the scenery around him. Barren and damp, Pangea stared back at him with an equally darkening gaze. The salt and brine hanging in the air was almost palpable, as well as other scents (hot and decaying flesh, death…all the signs of a wasteland) that he did not recognize. It was strangely quiet, which was a relief to the colt. The damp, salty breeze howls mournfully through the empty caverns and forsaken landscape, brushing Maugrim’s pearlescent and evergreen mane and forelock away from his face, ghostly fingers of comfort against his flesh.
As he continues to follow the girl (whom he had mostly forgotten about), the scenery around him changes slightly. She stops and says nothing, most likely awaiting his presence as he draws up next to her. Together they look downward into the weary, black waters that were the ocean and immediately Maugrim knew that he would stay here. The meadow and forest did not suit him.
He watches in awe at the tumultuous waters that scrape against the grey shoreline, his dark green and lavender skin shivering excitedly. He licks his lips, tasting the salt in the air (as well as another taste, something he did not recognize…blood?), and eagerly takes a step forward, drawn to the ocean’s strength and power. He hesitates for a moment, brow furrowing. Maugrim would never admit it, the grandeur of the ocean – something he had never witnessed - suddenly frightened the young colt with its ferocity. Maugrim then remembers Azazelle and with a sharp turn of his head finally addresses her. Of course, there was no ‘thank you’ given to her for leading him to Pangea safely and successfully. It was a command:
“You first.”
m a u g r i m.