Gale
run away with me--
lost souls and reverie
running wild and running free
The constant clouds of winter have at last been pushed away by the heat of spring, and Gale enjoys the feel of the warm air beneath his feathered wings as he soars over his island home. It is riotous with color and birdsong, and a warm gust from the sea fills the brindle stallion’s nose with the crisp scent of the sea. The scent of the sea, and of someone unfamiliar.
Erne is on the far edge of the island, brooding a pair of speckled eggs with his mate, and though he knows Aedan’s family are nearby he has not yet asked to borrow the use of their eyes.
He must see with his own eyes, then, and alters his slow spiral over the island so that he might land on the black sand beach. He slows from the gallop of his landing to a leisurely walk, drawing closer to the unfamiliar mare with a good-natured smile on his face and a light humor to his voice when he speaks
“I see neither wings nor fins that might have brought you to our shores, but nor do you look as though you’ve washed up against your will.” She looks to have come here purposefully, though for what he is not sure. Trust had been reborn with him with he emerged from his Loessian grave, and six years in peaceful Islandres has done little to change that. (He knows that there is conflict on the mainland, war and death and things that he prefers not to think of.)
She does not look dangerous, and he does not treat her as such; the smile on his lips is matched by guileless curiosity in his bright eyes. Had she looked dangerous – with wild eyes, slavering jaws, or fire dancing about her skin – perhaps he might have been more wary. Or perhaps not, for he is a creature in his prime and in his element, gifted with more than the sturdy limbs and sinewy muscles that have always been enough to keep himself and those he treasures safe.
“What brings you my island?” He asks, the possessive coming naturally. Islandres is his, much as it is Eyas’ or Vita’s or even little Islay’s, and so even that seems welcoming, especially when coupled with the offer that follows: “If you are thirsty I can guide you to a stream, but I’m afraid our famous Islandres grapples won’t be ripe for another few weeks, and have only grazing to offer if you are hungry.”
@[breach]
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