To the throat and the Sun God...
He knew only of a few from the Throat, and she didn't look like she could be the young of the likes of Cera. Volterra perhaps, though Tilney had met a few of his countless ilk in the past and they all bore the mark of baldness upon their face - not an oak leaf. Then again, Isopia was one marked with snarling jaws and they were not apparent on this earthly doe either. For now he would assume it was a gentleman he didn't know nor had heard of.
"The Throat is not a safe place for the young. Sand colic... it's not ideal" the physician warned, forgetting momentarily that his warning's were meaningless now that there was no Dragon's Throat left to return to. It was a place he had intended to make his home eventually despite the sand and lack of forest and drinkable water, for it was there that father sun truly watched over his most faithful. No longer.
What otem spoke next drew the gent's mind from the air and directly upon her. She had seen Maude? spoken to her even! "Yes!" the stag cried, flipping his front feet over the sand with a hindered excitement, the kind tainted with overwhelming worry but also a small amount of relief. "Yes, yes...Yes" Why couldn't he stop saying yes? "Yes! That is Maude, that's my Maude! Where did you see her? is she unhurt?".
Without a moment to spare the stallion pressed on past the filly in order to begin the trek to find his daughter, only stopping to listen to the answers to his questions when he was a great number of yards past. "Are you coming with?" He then proceeded to ask, brows knitting with worry for the oak-stamped girl should she be left to face more hallucinogenic cacti or worse on her lonesome.
Riptide Isles
