After crossing past the rim of her scorched homeland, our weary, little wanderer is forced to enter into a clutch of cruel, steep mountains. For many weeks she ascends -- climbing relentlessly, outdoing those slim odds. Bruised and malnourished...at last she descends and finds (to her delight) an untouched gem. A sanctuary. Her weary eyes settle upon a vast territory of thriving habitats; all of which seem unaffected by the wrath of that endless summer. From her vantage, on that clifftop looking down into those unnamed valleys -- she felt paradise is within her grasp. But our wayward, naive summer babe would soon discover in as little as a week...paradise would have a steep cost.

Members from a local cult, -ruled predominately by felines- forcefully cornered her. And though she valiantly fought their high monarch for freedom, her struggle against him failed.

Their race is a lofty, begrudging one; cult members often force prey type creatures into captivity for sport and questionable pleasure. Her freedom is torn out from beneath her; but their intentions are for no other purpose than to have another trophy to be passed on a whim. She is fated to serve as a collectable to the high ranking families; a trinket, a pet in essence. Their world, customs and tongue are withheld purposely, her foreign origin made it easy for them to maintain control with little effort. Luckily, she befriends a sympathetic man, a potion master and healer. For whatever reason, he takes a particular interest in her and bargains with his position to make the winged filly his personal hostage. Little by little, she win his confidence. Eventually, he lengthens her figurative tether and she begins to explore the world around her volcanic cage. Other slaves aren't so lucky, the combination of physical and emotional abuse infuriate a vast majority, many are maimed and killed in their fight to freedom. Rebellions and escapes are frequent -- though the vast majority all end in blood...

Lilac wine - Chops slither upward, revealing the warm, wet daggers beneath. Ebony locks of layered silk whirl against my neck as I turn, attempting to pull the monster from my blind spot. These wide, fearful irises settle upon an unexpected harbinger…rather than the lean, feline body of an assassin…it was the massive, cream and gold frame of my savior and guardsmen. Hot fear dissipates like fog beneath the sun. My jaw remains tactfully open, gaping at the titan. Anxiety of a different sort plodders across my expression, heating the narrow lines, flushing those pale corners.

Thieves landing (joining Basin) - Above us, the storm becomes relentless; bold strokes of white outline his towering frame, contrasting the dark backdrop. Though, the rational part of my brain didn’t automatically assume he meant me harm – his unknown goals collide against muddled comprehension and a year’s worth of prior experience. Disorientation mocks our situation; my subconscious becomes less understanding and more receptive to base emotions – dismay, distrust – the air is a breeding ground. My wounded limb shivers, triggering a miserable wince as I lift the leg apprehensively from the ground and replant that wretched foot.

Shining, shivering - Paper thin nostrils flare, drowning in the pheromones of unmarked terrain. That self-preserving, learnt instinct to be the wall flower – to feel self-conscious and cautious -- becomes momentary preoccupied with compassion and the all-consuming flavor of him. To me…he smelled like summertime, salt and sun-dried wheat. But also, there was something sweet and inviting about him… like the shade of a weeping pine or the cool, forgiving soil beside a stream. Brows arch, signaling questions that I didn’t know how to ask. Instead…I follow the pull of my subconscious as she eases me closer.

Basin blunder - Sliding in – following his instruction via body language – my eyes shift naturally to Noah’s dark, shapely companion. An informal (instant) opinion begins to form. She (like my eagle) is blessed with height; her body is painted like the shiny, burning rock of my volcanic host…the one who’d held me in captivity. No…my subconscious murmurs, openly denying the negative resemblance…and swapping for a positive one. She that tiny voice whispers, captures the essence of midnight and the harvest moon. Irises dance upward, tracing the spiral dagger sprouting from the center of her face.

Little fish, big pond - Relief and anxiety are subdued by the new reality of my frigid predicament. The stranger speaks and these vibrating ears pivot, sorting and absorbing the melody of his foreign words. There is familiarity in his voice (even if those words are lost to me)…but my lungs seemed unwilling to suck a deep enough breath amid the chattering to form a reply. I glance up, realization comes quickly. This is one of the men from weeks prior -- one who'd discovered our typhoon brewing trio ascending the face of a mountain. Drenched...and dirty...the irony of our second impression burns the tips of my ears.

Don't rush, no pressure - A light shiver dances from snout to hoof -- feathers loosen, shaking the dust from their mist. Sounding far less shell shocked after a moment of sharp blinking, I utter on the next breath, "Bonjour monsieur," while those effects of dreariness fade, my resolves allows a meek smile to etch itself gently into the crease of either corner. We've been sharing language with each other for many weeks. His tongue (the simple notes) are becoming more familiar and advanced. My subconscious shrugs as only a figurative creature can, we both agreed that the more I heard and studied his tongue...the more of a preference arose.

Birds of a feather - The dragon! Up till now, my focus hasn’t been on the absence of magic. I dismissed the missing talents as a curse or payment for my new life when they didn’t reemerge. But...dragons are regarded as creatures of great wisdom; without a doubt, if anyone could restore me, he could. Mini me lurches forward, excitable jitters racing down her spine, ‘ask,’ she naturally assumed that the mythical creature would dispense of the barrier. Temples arch, searching that beautiful, scaled flesh and those curious webbed arms...but...no serpent of legend.

Our souls turn into a boat of dreams - Amber threads of milky clouds become skewed by twilight; the brilliant sun wanes his power while the first of many stars begin to poke through the moonless night sky. Below, we’ve traded paradise for…rivers of fire…even from afar, their dazzling, bizarre hue has started a war against the rise of tension building in my chest. These nostrils tremble, sipping the horrible taste of gas. Pockets of hot air become easier to find – and harder avoid – their invisible conflict balloons against my secondary and primary feathers, upsetting that perfect harmony I’d spent weeks practicing. “Noah!” Pale lips draw back as my thundering heart nosedives – galloping into action. These arms rotate, attempting to work with (rather than against) the current.

All sorts of yayness inside - My lips ascend, stretching toward his honeyed cheek – eager to trace and scout those vivid (previously inaccessible) contours. Rims dance, leaving their moist imprint down his iron clad, incinerated neck. I have always been drawn to him – but now…the pull is irresistible. He is the light who invites the fragile moth. Those siren-like hormones are impish, rousing…delicious. Caged sensations loosen the bars of their confinement, slipping free. My dock impulsively arches, flagging a tri-fold of silk earnestly against the arc of either hindleg.

Visitors - I follow him obediently to the ground; but his choice of pit-stop is received with a cross of repulsion and unease. This is by far the lowest on our chart of enjoyable sightseeing. Wet, sloppy, dark, squish. I hate how these toes sink down into the cold, unexplored deep of stagnate…salty, swampy land. I could literally feel the twitch and itch of mosquitoes and gnats closing in...irritably, my ears flick and my tri colored tail lashes against these sweaty hindquarters.

Windblow - When he ambles off to investigate, I follow (hanging back) – confident enough in his ability (handling whatever) to dip my head, tonguing at the grass in passing. Velvet listeners rotate, absorbing the muffled rhythm of unfamiliar hooves. Blades of barley jut from their slots while I turn (still chewing) to find the source. A lovely child…her strawberry, dappled body is without the mutation of feather or horn and…a bleached canine. Both of which are closing in. Eyebrows arch, protective judgement narrows on the alabaster predator warily.