communist daughter standing on the seaweed water

[magnus]

magnus

howling ghosts, they reappear
in mountains that are stacked with fear

Tephra may seem dismal at first, but Magnus knows the beauty of the land. He has seen the wildness of it, the richness of it stirring something in his heart. He knows the way that it melds and flows, the way it goes from salty beaches to vibrant foliage to volcanic soil and magma. Each case of it is heartbreakingly perfect, and he revels in it. He was raised amongst the humid jungle and he welcomes the thick air, his thin coat acclimated to the damp air, his lungs welcoming the weight of it, soaking it in.

His gold coat has darkened wth sweat by the time they arrive, spring’s air threatening to give way to summer, and his patrols have begun long ago. He watches as they come in and he immediately alters his path, angling through the isle, traveling across the thin streams and the vegetation that sometimes reaches high enough to brush against the tender underside of his belly.

It takes a while before he finally reaches them, but his eyes are bright and his smile is charmingly crooked by the time he does get to them. “Hello there,” he greets, his whiskey voice warm. He has never been one to treat strangers on the border suspiciously, although his life has given him every reason to. Instead, he appreciates their open border policy, welcoming everyone as friend and family until they give him reason to believe otherwise. “Welcome to Tephra, my name is Magnus.” He looks at each of them in the eye, nodding his heavy-jawed head in greeting before settling into a relaxed position. “How can I help you?”

but you're a king and I'm a lionheart