no matter what they say, I am still the king
Pangea was quiet - not much had changed in that sense. The land was just as barren as it had been before, with just small pinpricks of life beginning to emerge - the calm before the storm, the ships wading to harbor. (How safe? How calm? How long?). That was fine with Eight - he was content to watch over the few who’s curiosity piqued enough to travel to the cursed land. AFter all, how much could he expect those to come? Any who stepped foot in Pangea would soon be laden with the heavy bones of the plague - blood from their bodies, skin peeling off, breath short in their lungs - it was the end all be all of Pangea. There was no other way out.
Only one had dared travel across the border thus far, and he had already been riddled sickly. An oozing and dastardly thing, who could barely raise his body from the ground - Vadar. Shortly after He had healed some of the man’s wounds, he disappeared. How strange, this land could be. And save for that, it was just He and Cosmos - and the plague, this ever-evolving thing that resided with them, that fed the rivers with bloated corpses, and gave the air a permanent stench of death. The plague - this thing that all of Beqanna has been living with throughout this steady trickle of time. And here, Pangea, is where it was born.
There is movement, the small sound of footsteps - though not quite equine (something softer? Something a bit more gentle?). His eyes close as he reaches inward to His magic, pulling strings at the world to pinpoint exactly where it came from. There - by the deadened pools of water. But what? Was the better question.
And so he goes, black wings caressing the sky as He careens down toward the mouth of water, and two curiosities besides it. He lands, cocking his head - cats? How strange, this land was.
“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.” He should warn them, though Cats they may be. “There is death and decay here in Pangea. Though, you may have risked yourself just passing through.”
(now, the storm is coming in)