Spring brings with it a drive to explore and though there is much to discover still in in the place she has claimed as her home, Beryl finds her steps pulling her southward - beyond the awesome black-rock cliffs of the Nerine, through the giant trees of the redwood forest that she curls and winds between with cat-like steps. Her eyes remain steadfast on the broken peak that rivals The Mountain for its height and foreboding and even when the forest breaks and the grey shores of the northern country spread besides her, she refuses to look at them, refuses to even wonder what damage may have been done to the Isle – and surely it is not nearly so bad as she imagines, but her imagination isrunning wild with her heart, leaping into her throat until she chokes on it, until she frowns and snorts and shakes her head at nothing. She cannot bear to have the burn scars and the blackened ice full of soot and char and bone that she imagines confirmed as truth.

Instead, she avoids the northwest view and turns her feet to Tephra, the unfettered spring breeze of Nerine becomes a gentle hug of fog in the woodland territory, then gives way slowly to the heavy weight of the humid jungle. The paths here are strange; flat, black, and hard as rock. Her hooves ring bright as she follows one at random, dark eyes peering through the large ferns and broad-leafed foliage. When she cannot see she reaches out softly to the yellow-eyed shadows and draws them closer to her, brightening the jungle depths as she goes. 

The closer she comes to the foot of the volcano, the thicker the paths run, speaking to another sort of burning, one that happened long enough ago that the sulfur smell of it has rotted away and in its place is dark and fertile soil that gives birth to the marvelous growth around her. The thought that such a thing could lead to this sort of healing stirs hope in her breast, and the trees growing here stir wonder. They are wide and tall, and though they cannot rival the redwoods for that prize, they are magnificent in their own way, their thin bark a rainbow of dripping color, and she pauses a moment in awe of them. Of the way their colors run, blue and orange and grey and green and red, impossibly bright. She reaches out with her grey muzzle to brush softly against the papery bark, her breath blowing at the edges where it sloughs away to reveal the color beneath.

Perhaps, if she had known about these, she might have chosen Tephra as her home, instead, but the northern ice has been in her blood since the day she nearly drowned in its waters, and so she drifts reluctantly away from the glorious trees, following the crashing sound of a waterfall that sends its mist curling through the jungle vines. The shadows lead the way – as if she could not find it herself, but she smiles a soft thank you to them just the same, still refusing Leilan’s long-ago assertions that they are inanimate manifestations of her magic – and they draw her, smiling, to a place where suddenly all the tall trees fall away in the shadow of the Volcano and the Waterfall, their twins streams fall together wild, raucous, boiling, mist and steam and smoke rising equally into the sky and the golden mare is left silent and stunned.

She knows of the sabino’s coming before the small mare ever breaks through the thick vegetation smelling of wolves and lavender. It’s the wolves that get her attention, neither a single individual - a bonded companion - nor the inseparable twist of predator and prey like Beryl’s own smell. The other mare smells like a pack. She has met shifters and mimics, and now she thinks, as the other suddenly draws near and speaks, that she has never met anyone that runs with wolves without being one themselves.

“Yes, beautiful.”

Where have the wolves gone? the young mare wonders, her tail flicking idly as she turns to her right to greet the stranger.

they seek

“Your friends are looking for you, I think.”

She speaks, just moments before the pair slink from beneath the fern leaves to flank either side of her companion, and she spares them a glance, her head lowering slightly to meet amber eyes closer to their level, then returning her dark gaze to the waterfall tumbling down the side of the volcano, rainbows glimmering in its fine spray. It reminds her of the lights that play across the sky of the Isle on clear nights, writhing green snakes that shift and twist so high in the sky that there is nothing but star and shadow around them. That is a strange an alien darkness which she has never been able to draw down, that has never heard her call, too distant, too cold. The untouchable darkness makes her shiver to think of and brings her back to the warm and bright present, colorful and wild and full of life.

The heat of late spring here to a body so used to the North makes the idea of cooling off in the water an appealing one, and she does lean closer to the water, but even the way the air seems to stick thickly to her skin does not drive her into it. The corners of her mouth twitch slightly – up? Down? She keeps her face neutral though she thinks most would have to swim to reach them and the idea drums up that familiar old sea sickness.

it is dry behind the falling water. we can show--

No!

The golden girl is not sure she can stand even a dry cavern behind that wall of water, rushing, roaring, the pounding in her ears like waves beating against themselves in open sea. The Shadows had saved her on that day, and perhaps they are right this time, too, but it was tricky thing to trust them too far. They were not always reliable reporters on the safety of things when they themselves knew nothing of what it means to die.

“Do you live here?”