EZITAL
Ezital is finally, honestly, truly lost.
The towering trees had given way to prickly cacti, the mossy ground had turned to gritty, dry sand, and the sun beat down on his back, wetting his flanks with foamed sweat. He’d paused to sniff a heavy red cactus blossom, but it's sickly sweet scent churned his stomach and he wasn’t tempted to lick it. Not even a little bit. There is little else to do but keep walking and hope that the endless sand gives way to something better.
By now, he’s sick of this place. He hates the stale dry air and the way his thighs are sticking together. He hates the way the sand gives underfoot like that time he got himself stuck in a bog. He hates the tangled waves of forelock and mane that must be a mess of frizz.
He stumbles on, grumbling, but his small ears begin to pick up familiar sounds, the sounds of horses. He perks up at the prospect of meeting someone, the prospect of something to break up the monotony of the last few days. Loosing a shrill whinny, he canters towards the hum of life before him.
He sees the fountain first.
“Oh thank god,” he groans, and plunges himself headfirst into the water, spraying diamond droplets in every direction. He drinks until he is full to bursting, then immediately throws himself to the ground and scrubs every sweaty inch of his body into the stone. He rolls himself completely over, tucking his forelegs tight into his chest, kicking up showers of dust heedlessly with his hind legs.
Finally sated, he settles into an ungainly sprawl, and flicks an ear at the horses nearby.
“Oh hey,” he says, yawning widely. “What’s up?”
@Jask @August
