He keeps his pace steady, glancing back occasionally to ensure that Brynmor had not fallen on his face somewhere along the way. Although, if he had, he is not entirely sure he wouldn’t have just left him. He would guess that the man had long since grown accustomed to his blindness, and therefore would have figured out how to walk without falling into things all the time. If he hadn’t, well, then he needed to learn, didn’t he?
Before long the tree dotted landscape of lower Beqanna is giving away to the wider, less forested expanse of the north. The land becomes flatter, trees falling away into scrubby brush. The lush grass of the meadow and field give way to the hardier varieties that thrive in the northern climes. The air grows steadily colder, more brisk. While fall can be quite pleasant in the more southern regions of Beqanna, in the Tundra it is already growing wintry. This is heartily attested to by a few stray snowflakes that fall determinedly into the scrubby grasses as they walk.
Before long they reach the massive ice wall that looms over the borders of the kingdom. Its shadow falls over them, bringing a further chill to the air. Hurricane angles easily for the single opening in the colossal wall, leading the gray stallion through the lone entrance of the kingdom. Unless one has wings, of course.
When finally they have passed through the wall, Hurricane draws to a halt. Turning, he assesses the other man, seeing how he had fared on the journey here. When he speaks, his words are simple, welcoming the blind stallion to his new home in his own way.
”The Tundra.”
Before long the tree dotted landscape of lower Beqanna is giving away to the wider, less forested expanse of the north. The land becomes flatter, trees falling away into scrubby brush. The lush grass of the meadow and field give way to the hardier varieties that thrive in the northern climes. The air grows steadily colder, more brisk. While fall can be quite pleasant in the more southern regions of Beqanna, in the Tundra it is already growing wintry. This is heartily attested to by a few stray snowflakes that fall determinedly into the scrubby grasses as they walk.
Before long they reach the massive ice wall that looms over the borders of the kingdom. Its shadow falls over them, bringing a further chill to the air. Hurricane angles easily for the single opening in the colossal wall, leading the gray stallion through the lone entrance of the kingdom. Unless one has wings, of course.
When finally they have passed through the wall, Hurricane draws to a halt. Turning, he assesses the other man, seeing how he had fared on the journey here. When he speaks, his words are simple, welcoming the blind stallion to his new home in his own way.
”The Tundra.”
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
@[Brynmor]