the tempest of an unrelenting sea

Ears perk— her healed body had wandered away from the fresh water pools of the Hidden Falls. Instead, she found herself once again between the thick, dark trees of the forest. Why had she chosen to return to the very place Cem had nearly bested her with his blinding magic? Likely to test herself against the forest once again— to prove that she would not be so vulnerable a second time. That she could protect herself as well above the sea in these solid trees as in the kelp forests of the ocean floor. 

So when the ominous buzzing rattle struck through the trunks and into her scaled ears, her teeth points bare as her lips peel back slightly. The woman is more tense and more on guard than usual. Webbed hooves fall in cautious, rigid steps as her ridges undulate with unease. Though her newly healed face fins are tucked flush against her throat— it would not do to have then partially ripped from her face once again. 

Unblinking, wide eyes arrest on the moving bones suspending in the ivory-trunk tree. The clattering is sinister, but only interest sparks in her too-large eyes. Were these bones won in battle, souvenirs of great winds? Or were they mere collected by one who sought death? At the thought of the first, then the militant mare thrums with thrill. The latter held much less interest for her. 

Her scaled legs arrest, eyes sweeping the sudden appearance of a beast from the roots of the bone-tree. But the woman does not flinch, does not falter. In comparison to the monsters faced in the Rift, such a ghastly creature is almost commonplace to the seahorse. And, instead of attacking and trying to eat her flesh, it asks to play a game.

A sharp snort pushes out her ridged nostrils, unblinking eyes sweeping those already present as she awaits to see what the “game” would be before committing to it. The creature could still turn on them; could suddenly seek their lifeblood rather than their participation in childish antics. 

Her sweeping gaze found two colts marked by bones, and two mares who smelled of the sea— but all others were swept aside when her bright eyes found a familiar, grey form. Sweeping strides bring her near the growing, silent colt, “Stay by me, Kahelo,” her low growl was not patronizing or protective, merely commanding.