ŕźşa ŇΚnned Ńravelerŕźť
He never fancied traveling. Migration wasnât something nagging on Bruceâs mind, at least not for most of his years. The Cetus had been perfectly comfortable and content in the reef of the Great Sea Belegaer amongst his tinier fish friends and reef denizens. If it were only for them, the twenty-foot sea beast would have continued to stay there until the end of his days. But worry couldnât help but push that instinctual urge forward.Â
Worry that with each passing day, Bruce noticed less and less of his kin. Days turned to weeks to months and then a full year which the Cetus went without seeing not one other Cetus of his kind pass through the reef; the edge of which had usually been a common migratory path.Â
Tales spoke of Cetus congregations in the Sea of Rhun. Whether that were true or not, Bruce had little choice in the matter. The ocean seemed vast but everyday, seemed to shrink in size, as if the earth was closing in on itself and growing smaller the longer he waited to depart. After a few days of hesitation, the Cetus finally made his trek across the bay and into the land through the Anduin in hopes of reaching the Sea of Rhun within a year at the most.Â
His semi-terrestrial form aided his travels. That, and a set of lungs which could be inflated at times when the river grew too shallow and the creature was forced to the bank, lumbering forward in a bearlike gait.Â
Mountains of the High Pass rose with intimidating majesty in the distance far off as the Cetus shuffled slowly onto the slippery river rocks of the bank. He opened his jaws, forcing a few haggard coughs until his gills shut and his lungs expanded with air: an uncomfortable but necessary transition. Bruce shook his head, sending water droplets in a spray before he glanced about his surroundings, taking in the crisp autumn wind that nipped the cold, wet parts of his skin.Â