Riptide Isles
Whilst others must swim in order to reach their destination, Vulkán is blessed with wings. He can soar above the raging tides beneath him whilst his fellow horses struggle against the rampaging waters, although he does not tend to feel such things as arrogance so it does not cross his mind to brag about his good fortune. He's not exactly sure why he's here; he has been exploring off and on, but it is low priority compared to his hellbent desire to rid himself of the burning pain inside his head. Doing so involves completing the tasks set to him by the eyes inside his mind, so everywhere he goes is with a view to solving the conundrum that is causing him so much agony. Today is different, though. Today, there is something....happening. The yearling flies across the waves with consumate ease, courtesy of the thick muscles that anchor his wings to his body. His hybrid tail swings around behind him, acting as a rudder to control the movements of his massive frame as it twists through the air. The light in the pillars ahead of him draws him like a moth to a flame; in his small repertoire of stunted emotions, curiosity is ranked quite highly, whereas fear is ranked very low down. Vulkán does not contemplate for a second that something bad could be about to happen, regardless of the fact that the Rift killed his mother in front of his very eyes. Besides, everything looks too calm to be dangerous. The seas have quietened, the roiling tempest calmed by whatever otherwordly power commands it, and the yearling continues his slow circling with a glow of interest in his lava-hued eyes. |
