THIS CITY IS SO COLD AND I’M, I’M SO SOLD
Toro didn’t get letters.
Not - not to say that he didn’t understand them, but it was entirely that no one sent him any. Who would? Needless to say, he was surprised - shocked, even - to find a bird waiting for him at his most recent residence (for as much as he craved stability, he had taken it upon himself to leave whichever part of the capital he was in that started to have too many familiar faces, because all of them seemed to sneer) with a letter addressed to Toro. He was hesitant to open it at first, thinking, perhaps, that it was meant for someone else, but shame on the sender for getting the address wrong, if that was the case, and so, he resolved to indulge in whatever business was not for his eyes. But as the white bull skimmed along the brief message, they fell upon the signature. He inhaled sharply.
Your friend,
Anzhelo.
He would say something stupid like that. Toro reread the letter three times before crumpling the paper and throwing it into the corner of his very unfurnished room. He spent the rest of the afternoon pacing, during which he took a break for dinner, before slipping out of the capital as the last rays of dusk slid below the horizon. It’d be wrong to make such a sorry creature wait.
It took some days for El Toro to cross the plains of Solterra, and it lengthened his trip even more to skirt around the canyon (though he took a break at the oasis), dipping south through the mountains (in which he proclaimed himself lost at least twice) before finding the lake of which (he hoped) Anzhelo wrote. It seemed about right, anyway, for when he looked hard enough he found the yawning mouth of, what he considered, a rather noteworthy cave. Toro took a few steps in, but he found his hooves sinking quickly. He called out, “Anzhelo?” before backing out, hoping the darkness had not swallowed his fr-
@
"What I say,"
What I think,
