i know i'm not the center of the universe
-but you keep spinning 'round me just the same
After endless miles of fields and meadows, Ivar is relieved to at last see something other than flowing grass. It’s a sentinel pine, oddly placed out here in the open, but it signals the change in climate that means he is nearing Tephra. The piebald colt feels a thrill of excitement down his spine and he shakes the thickening crest of his neck. He continues to press forward, each step of his pale legs confident. Only when he catches the first whiff of something equine does he stop. The border will be coming up soon, he knows. Best to stop here, call out, and wait to be found.
Ivar does that, eyeing the tall steaming mountain with one soft brown eyes. Yes, he thinks, that certainly does look like enough heat to warm even distant Ischia.
He’s not entirely sure he likes it.
But the yearling has been taught tolerance (it might have been a struggle on his mother’s end) and patience (that he inherited from his father just as he had his penchant for water). Perhaps they will have new sorts of water here, he tells himself, streams or rivers or deep underground pools. Even if they don’t, at least he’ll be able to say he has been to Tephra.
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