the firestarters always get the burns
and the good guys never get the girl
The volcanic heat is perhaps more sulfuric than any jungle, but Ilma never experienced that difference. The path that the buckskin male now follows, makes her wonder about such a place - perhaps Kagerus might have mentioned one, from before the… Reckoning, that’s the word. Now that she’s dealing with a shift of lands caused by the rise of Pangea and the subsequent Plague, the Andalusian mare would wonder how often these lands might change. Perhaps in five more years or even if the faeries find a cure for the Plague, things could be different once more.
But although speculating about the future is tempting, she finds that she is drawn back to the here and now just as easily. Or perhaps it’s the man’s voice, or even just the way he looks at her. Whatever the case, she is happy to have him as a distraction, and she chuckles at his mentioning of wings on him. ”I doubt I could ever imagine you clumsy. Though, I must admit I think the ground suits you just as well.” Some horses just didn’t feel right, with wings, she thinks. Perhaps it was a more grounded, steady personality on them that made flight less suiting. But she was born with hers, albeit not these wings exactly, so his compliments don’t entirely hit their mark. Not that she doesn’t appreciate it, but she really thinks nothing much of flying. If anything, it feels like cheating, half of the time.
Then, they finally reach their destination. Following the stallion through the last of the jungle-like growth, she stops in her tracks there, just taking it all in. ”It’s beautiful. Look at all the colours!” Only then she releases a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, and carefully steps forward to examine the flowers, smelling them and admiring the different shapes of every plant.