Spring brings with it a drive to explore and though there is much to discover still in in the place she has claimed as her home, Beryl finds her steps pulling her southward - beyond the awesome black-rock cliffs of the Nerine, through the giant trees of the redwood forest that she curls and winds between with cat-like steps. Her eyes remain steadfast on the broken peak that rivals The Mountain for its height and foreboding and even when the forest breaks and the grey shores of the northern country spread besides her, she refuses to look at them, refuses to even wonder what damage may have been done to the Isle – and surely it is not nearly so bad as she imagines, but her imagination isrunning wild with her heart, leaping into her throat until she chokes on it, until she frowns and snorts and shakes her head at nothing. She cannot bear to have the burn scars and the blackened ice full of soot and char and bone that she imagines confirmed as truth.
Instead, she avoids the northwest view and turns her feet to Tephra, the unfettered spring breeze of Nerine becomes a gentle hug of fog in the woodland territory, then gives way slowly to the heavy weight of the humid jungle. The paths here are strange; flat, black, and hard as rock. Her hooves ring bright as she follows one at random, dark eyes peering through the large ferns and broad-leafed foliage. When she cannot see she reaches out softly to the yellow-eyed shadows and draws them closer to her, brightening the jungle depths as she goes.
The closer she comes to the foot of the volcano, the thicker the paths run, speaking to another sort of burning, one that happened long enough ago that the sulfur smell of it has rotted away and in its place is dark and fertile soil that gives birth to the marvelous growth around her. The thought that such a thing could lead to this sort of healing stirs hope in her breast, and the trees growing here stir wonder. They are wide and tall, and though they cannot rival the redwoods for that prize, they are magnificent in their own way, their thin bark a rainbow of dripping color, and she pauses a moment in awe of them. Of the way their colors run, blue and orange and grey and green and red, impossibly bright. She reaches out with her grey muzzle to brush softly against the papery bark, her breath blowing at the edges where it sloughs away to reveal the color beneath.
Perhaps, if she had known about these, she might have chosen Tephra as her home, instead, but the northern ice has been in her blood since the day she nearly drowned in its waters, and so she drifts reluctantly away from the glorious trees, following the crashing sound of a waterfall that sends its mist curling through the jungle vines. The shadows lead the way – as if she could not find it herself, but she smiles a soft thank you to them just the same, still refusing Leilan’s long-ago assertions that they are inanimate manifestations of her magic – and they draw her, smiling, to a place where suddenly all the tall trees fall away in the shadow of the Volcano and the Waterfall, their twins streams fall together wild, raucous, boiling, mist and steam and smoke rising equally into the sky and the golden mare is left silent and stunned.
Instead, she avoids the northwest view and turns her feet to Tephra, the unfettered spring breeze of Nerine becomes a gentle hug of fog in the woodland territory, then gives way slowly to the heavy weight of the humid jungle. The paths here are strange; flat, black, and hard as rock. Her hooves ring bright as she follows one at random, dark eyes peering through the large ferns and broad-leafed foliage. When she cannot see she reaches out softly to the yellow-eyed shadows and draws them closer to her, brightening the jungle depths as she goes.
The closer she comes to the foot of the volcano, the thicker the paths run, speaking to another sort of burning, one that happened long enough ago that the sulfur smell of it has rotted away and in its place is dark and fertile soil that gives birth to the marvelous growth around her. The thought that such a thing could lead to this sort of healing stirs hope in her breast, and the trees growing here stir wonder. They are wide and tall, and though they cannot rival the redwoods for that prize, they are magnificent in their own way, their thin bark a rainbow of dripping color, and she pauses a moment in awe of them. Of the way their colors run, blue and orange and grey and green and red, impossibly bright. She reaches out with her grey muzzle to brush softly against the papery bark, her breath blowing at the edges where it sloughs away to reveal the color beneath.
Perhaps, if she had known about these, she might have chosen Tephra as her home, instead, but the northern ice has been in her blood since the day she nearly drowned in its waters, and so she drifts reluctantly away from the glorious trees, following the crashing sound of a waterfall that sends its mist curling through the jungle vines. The shadows lead the way – as if she could not find it herself, but she smiles a soft thank you to them just the same, still refusing Leilan’s long-ago assertions that they are inanimate manifestations of her magic – and they draw her, smiling, to a place where suddenly all the tall trees fall away in the shadow of the Volcano and the Waterfall, their twins streams fall together wild, raucous, boiling, mist and steam and smoke rising equally into the sky and the golden mare is left silent and stunned.
Hello, Beryl is visiting.