05-31-2017, 07:43 PM
The young boy follows him eagerly, and Warrick is glad that there is still some youthful innocence still stirring within the confines of Beqanna. Ivar is adventurous and not in the least bit guarded or unsure. It was refreshing and obviously Warrick welcomes it warmly; any sort of light that could distract him from the overwhelming emptiness of Tephra will suit him just fine. Warrick dives head first into the damp foliage that was heavy with moisture from the humid atmosphere. Broad, fat leaves whip against their bodies as they move through the jungle-like landscape, the warmth of the air becoming denser as they head deeper into the Tephra’s epicenter. He wonders that if after their adventure through the tropical forests, if the boy would return the favor and accompany Warrick to Sylva. Warrick did not have any civil duties or politics to involve himself with Tephra’s current position, so a trip would be merely for pleasure and for the sake of seeing the forest that he’s heard so much about.
A single blue-tipped ear flicks backwards to hear the colt’s hooves following steadily behind him. “We have many colorful birds. What you’re hearing are the macaws.” As if on cue, a few macaws flutter overhead, stirred from their perches by the sound of their hooves, their wings brilliantly colorful against the darkness of the canopy overhead. He slows a bit when the jungle begins to thin, foliage beginning to wane away to reveal large, wet rocks covered in thick vines. “There are some jaguars that stalk the area, though they are mostly solitary and stick to the cover of the jungle.” Warrick turns his head slightly to peer at Ivar from the corner of his eye, wondering if he was now listening for the sound of a jaguar’s yowl within the trees.
The volcano was closer now, but still towers over them like a steady breathing giant with billows of smoke and ash. The jungle has dissipated almost entirely; save for a few palmetto plants and trees that sparingly grew before them. The soft and damp underbrush that was beneath their hooves now gives way to the white of sand, and before them stands a glorious, sunlit beach. From this view, the volcano can be seen in its entirety, as well as glowing streaks of slow moving magma that cuts into the thick rock. He waits until the colt draws up beside him before a steals a glance at him, hoping that the majesty of the volcano would incite awe just as it’s done for so many who have visited here.
“There is a legend that the goddess of fire, Pele, lives in the center of that volcano. Those well versed in the legend, say that Pele will sometimes take a form of an old and sickly pale mare to test others – asking them if they have shelter or for them to care for her. Those who are generous and show her compassion are rewarded with their deepest desires, while anyone who is greedy or unkind is punished by the flames deep within her home.”
Warrick smiles. He loves stories.
A single blue-tipped ear flicks backwards to hear the colt’s hooves following steadily behind him. “We have many colorful birds. What you’re hearing are the macaws.” As if on cue, a few macaws flutter overhead, stirred from their perches by the sound of their hooves, their wings brilliantly colorful against the darkness of the canopy overhead. He slows a bit when the jungle begins to thin, foliage beginning to wane away to reveal large, wet rocks covered in thick vines. “There are some jaguars that stalk the area, though they are mostly solitary and stick to the cover of the jungle.” Warrick turns his head slightly to peer at Ivar from the corner of his eye, wondering if he was now listening for the sound of a jaguar’s yowl within the trees.
The volcano was closer now, but still towers over them like a steady breathing giant with billows of smoke and ash. The jungle has dissipated almost entirely; save for a few palmetto plants and trees that sparingly grew before them. The soft and damp underbrush that was beneath their hooves now gives way to the white of sand, and before them stands a glorious, sunlit beach. From this view, the volcano can be seen in its entirety, as well as glowing streaks of slow moving magma that cuts into the thick rock. He waits until the colt draws up beside him before a steals a glance at him, hoping that the majesty of the volcano would incite awe just as it’s done for so many who have visited here.
“There is a legend that the goddess of fire, Pele, lives in the center of that volcano. Those well versed in the legend, say that Pele will sometimes take a form of an old and sickly pale mare to test others – asking them if they have shelter or for them to care for her. Those who are generous and show her compassion are rewarded with their deepest desires, while anyone who is greedy or unkind is punished by the flames deep within her home.”
Warrick smiles. He loves stories.
like the sun,
swallowed up by the earth
warrick