Morozko was not a stallion often given to marveling, and yet here he stood, amazed.
He’d never seen anything like the creature before him in his eight years in Veteris. It was huge, nearly the length of his body, and seemed to squat on stubby legs on a muddy bank. The beast almost blended into the leaf-litter around it, but unmistakable was the armor it wore: a plated shield over its back, ridged like dragon-spikes. It was battle-garb even a citadel guard like he could envy.
The beast was snapping turtle, though he didn’t know it. He would have nodded appreciatively at the name, though – scant moments ago he’d made the mistake of drawing too near, and it had opened a cruelly beaked mouth with an audible hiss.
Now he stood a respectable distance away, damp to the knees from his retreat through the muck, and waited for it to do something.
It nicely summed up the bulk of his existence in Novus so far: observing and waiting, trying to learn the customs and world of a place so like his, and just different enough to feel distorted.
This swamp in particular was one of the worst – it was so humid here. Morozko hated the way his skin felt constantly damp, and even the late-spring breezes in the open meadows felt too warm. It made him feel sluggish, unprepared; the unicorn missed the sharp bite of his home country, the kind of cold that forced you awake. The way the snow made everything stark and clear.
Not like this place, he thought, as his silver-eyed gaze combed the dark bands of trees. Everything was a muted green or brown; what sunlight filtered through the leaves and moss did so weakly, and provided scant illumination of the algae-slick water and mud below. Anything could be hiding here. Even the birds sounded like they were calling out warnings.
Perhaps it was time he heeded them. With a last appreciative glance at the squat little dragon (he could think of nothing else it might be), the unicorn turned back north, picking his way delicately through the boggy ground. His mouth made a slight curl of distaste, but that melted into a flat line a moment later, when he heard a splashing and a snapping to his right.
Pausing, Morozko turned his narrow head toward the source of the noise. He waited until the figure resolved into the shape of an equine before giving a wordless nicker – a sound both welcome and warning.
