[private] for the call of the running tide

[Oceane]

to the lonely sea and sky

When the Loessian winter turns her joints stiff and chills the marrow in her bones, Oceane takes to the sky again for another jaunt to the tropics. Almost involuntarily, her amber eyes drift to the earth as she climbs into the sky above her home, seeking out the familiar shape of her King. She sees no black-and-white paint, no telltale golden band. If he is nearby, he is likely busy with politics or the like. Oceane has found him to be a busybody, never giving himself a moment to settle lest he be taken off guard.

It's an admirable trait, though she can't help but feel a little disappointed to fly away from Loessian skies without seeing him before she leaves, if only for a brief moment.

Once away from Beqanna's most central territory, Oceane's head clears and she is able to concentrate on the boundless wilderness on display beneath her outstretched violet wings. Much of the continent is blanketed in snow, though as she continues west it reduces itself to a gentle dusting and then, eventually, makes way for sandy island shores. She has ventured further south than Island Resort today, though not by much; whisperings of Ischia have intrigued her, namely the kelpies who seem to have been seaborne from the waters there.

She thinks of Isobell, her friend, fondly.

With the warm sun on her opalescent back and striped neck, the pegasi woman drifts closer to the isle below. Crystal waters lap mildly at its shores and catch her gilded gaze, leaving her to wonder how forgiving they are when the sea turns tumultuous beneath the weight of an ocean storm.

It's on the smaller northern island that Oceane finally settles her purple hooves. The momentum of her descent is quelled by widespread flight feathers that shimmer in the sun, throwing flecks of light against the warm sand beneath her. It kicks up beneath the sudden churn of her hooves, made airborne by the last few undulations of her feathered limbs, and finally settles like golden dust across her muscled frame.

Curiously, she lifts her banded neck and inspects the landscape lain out before her. Verdant foliage breaks up the expanse of beige and it's in this direction that Oceane journeys with sand-muffled steps, drawn to whatever could be hiding behind the veil of large, leafy palms. It tugs her closer, this quiet whisper of 'careful'. Oceane stops quite abruptly at the one-word mumble, her countenance pulled into something resembling confusion as she tries to peer beyond palm fronds.

Unbeknownst to her, Beqanna has changed her already; it has given her a gift, quietly stowed it in the depths of her brain, and the voice she has heard comes from a nearby blue and gold parrot who wishes only to warn her of the consequences of her trespassing.

"Who's there?" she asks unwavering, as if she is not the one to step hooves into sands that were not her own.

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@[Ivar] | speech