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This storm was uniquely awful of Tallsun, for generally the season gives the Edge heat, humidity, and temperate breezes. It is, by far, his favorite season of Helovia. He shakes his head to himself has he walks through the trees, seeking cover instead of his sheer size being a lightning beacon on the cliffs. His newness, his crown, it was all as overwhelming as the dumping of water forming rivers and muck on the saturated earth. His sweeping, heavy footfalls squelch and sink into the mud of the forests, shoulders and haunches bulging beneath his wet hide to dislodge his hooves from the sucking muck. His back is soaked, the buckskin coat plastered to his black skin. The stripes of white are transparent in their sodden state. Pale legs are splattered with mud, which slowly streams down his thick limbs with the pouring rain, only to be re-splattered with his next step. It’s truly a miserable journey. Lightning streaks across the sky and towards the earth, quickly followed by deafening booms of thunder. His ears lay back against the roars, though quickly perk forward as a murky white form meets his squinted gaze. As he nears, the rain no longer obscures the scene before him. Elsa stands, hovering over a small, dark, and soaked form beneath a tree. Immediately is concern is piqued— surely a foal should not be out in such weather? And was this one of Elsa’s foals— one she had lost during the invasion? Brief elation for the General alights in his barrel, before he comes closer and realizes that this foal is far too young. Too young to even be away from her dam’s teat, yet. His mind flashes on Nyx, wondering if she would have enough milk for a third foal. Most likely not, twins were hard enough to nourish as it was. Finally, he reaches the pair, catching the end of the filly’s answers. His eyes immediately fall to the bloodied knees of the young one, and his heart twists. His head drops from his great height to her small one, “Hello little one, I am Tembovu. Who might you be?” His voice is warm and low, managing to cut through the onslaught of rain around them. Her answers had reminded him of another foal in the Threshold. Why were so many foals crossing into Helovia now? “I am certain you did nothing wrong,” he pauses, gaze dropping to the bangle she so proudly displayed, “And that is a mighty fine bracelet.” He raises his head to look at Elsa, “You came from the Threshold?” Though he speaks to both of them, his question is aimed to Elsa, his eyes grave. The little one would need a nurse mare at her young age, and the hope of finding her dam was slim. |
- table by Niki -
@Elsa @Hera
Please tag Tembovu.
