there are many paths to tread
The crashing of the waves fill his ears, as the ocean reaches hungrily up towards them. Toulouse frowns down at it, and with a flick of his telekinesis he sweep his hair back and secures the bulk of it in a bun. A few stray curls still float around his face, irritatingly close to his eyes, but he can ignore those now. The ocean never has agreed with me…
He had been on an island only once before Novus, a small little thing that the locals claimed had treasure buried along his shores. His brother had laughed at the wind and the waves, and had playfully suggested they chop their manes off and rid themselves of the inconvenience. Toulouse had hardly believed he could be serious - cut off their hair? The hair they had spent years upon years growing out, and brushing, and plaiting, and imbuing with oils until it curled perfectly and bounced lightly against their shoulders - and in the end, they had reached an impasse, and the hair had stayed.
And it had taken them no less than a week to comb the mats and the dreadlocks that had formed out. In the end their manes had been remarkably thinner than when they had started; but their pockets were full, and his brother said it was well worth the sacrifice. Toulouse had not been so sure.
He shakes his head, brushing the strands from his face, and gestures out at the sea. “And how, pray tell, are we supposed to get from here to there?” The island bobbed like a ship out at harbor, and he was far less than confident in his swimming abilities. “You might be able to fly there easily enough, but I cannot.”
True enough, it would be a simple thing for her to fly there and report back to him… but that alone would be far too dissatisfying. No, Toulouse wanted to see for himself whether they were right or wrong.
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