Willfur
He's far too cautious an animal to approach the island while the cacophony of light and sound and vibration is still ongoing, but once the sky stops falling and the noise dies down, as light begins to creep over the horizon and illuminate the newly crystalized atoll, the mule's curiosity finally wins out over good sense and he determines to see what there is to see.
It's a short swim, but still, the novelty of events finds him squinting with each powerful stroke, struggling to make sense of the scene ahead before he's even close enough to touch hoof to soil, and when he does - finally - touch bottom, it's not soil beneath him at all, but a hard, multicolored glass that rings and reverberates against the weight of his step.
Everything is glass, or appears to be. The ground is a jumble of broken chips and shards that crunch and crinkle underfoot. Great four and five sided pillars spear upward, some rising far above the clay-colored stallion's head, others only barely tall enough to distinguish from the rest of the rubble, their surfaces impossibly smooth, reflecting recursive images back at him like a carnival fun-house. The effect is dizzying, disorienting, and sometimes blinding, as dawn swiftly transitions to day and the sun lifts free of any earthly obstacle, shining down without restraint.
Claustrophobia rises suddenly in the stallion's gut, as if the images within images have actually surrounded him, captured him, though he knows it's impossible, but so many things he's seen lately have been 'impossible,' and if he cannot trust in the laws of the universe then he must trust in himself, his instincts and intuitions, however illogical they might seem right now.
Fretting, shuffling on the spot, a small sound of anxiety rises in his throat, forced into a strangled, "Hello?" As his skin begins to twitch with nervous energy.
