Horizon Ridge whatever pain may come

Gentle. Lulling. The sea was pleased in the mid afternoon as Hemingway traipsed along the shoreline, relishing in the eager swell and recede of the waves. Contented breath was drawn from casually parted lips, tongue of salmon pink snaking from betwixt them to lick at the spray of saltwater as it came from the constant writhing form of the ocean. She was glorious, as always, the Kelpie found, drawn to it as a moth was drawn to a flame. Innisfree. They had been a sea-savvy family for many generations spanning further back then Hemingway could remember. He deigned to live near it once more, weary of traveling as he had grown. The gypsy life style was not one that Hemingway willingly favored, moving from place to place, calling none home and none within family. He had a family but the Soothsayer had foreseen that his future was not in staying a homebody. It was deigned elsewhere, demanding what nature did. Advancement. Genetic spread; but accumulating himself into a place that accepted his abilities as Soothsayer, his dreams was much easier spoken than done. Most met him with heavy skepticism. Others chased him away, afraid of his believed abilities. A happy medium, Hemingway was beginning to feel, did not exist.

Still, with Spring upon the lands his decision did not hold the same level of desperation that winter had pressed upon him so mercilessly. Soon, the herds would be returning in full and his decision would not weigh so heavily upon need. In stead, he could take his time. Weigh his options. Abrupt was his movement as Hemingway's alter in direction took him deeper into the salt water, desiring to feel it surge against him, to know it's power as it pushed against him, testing his strength. He had always been a strong swimmer and fisher, favoring the succulent delicacies of the sea when they had presented themselves to him and his siblings; thus did not tremble in fear from the ocean as he perhaps should have. Dangers lurked in every shadow of it's depths he had been told, yet how did that differ from land, he had always returned? The threads of the world existed in a constant state of chaos, of life and death. Whether he would foretell his demise or not was unknown to him, though he did not feel that today would be the day the spirits stole him from his corporeal body. Thus, he did not worry.

Instead he took joy in the sea, in the sun upon his back, intent on worrying about things such as packs and death at a later time.