Many times I’d found myself wandering aimlessly about the Edge with no real intentions of settling for conversation, company, or otherwise. As a purple morning lit the land before dashing away in the face of a yellow afternoon, I meandered solemnly along the outer borders in hopes of finding a bit of peace and quiet, of which had fled from the Edge’s heart hoping to also find sanctity from the chaos. With spring approaching, most of my family had begun preparing and celebrating the impending warmth of the color season. Greens and pinks and reds would once again flourish across the Edge and the sea would delight in the descent of the cold as she playfully pushed against the rocky cliff in hopes of catching our attention. The idea soothed my heart as I slowly navigated the frosted path ahead, now well-worn from the warriors and their patrols.

However, my distracted mind did little to guard me from stumbling upon the song of quiet voices wafting through the trees at the entrance of the Edge and without any real rhyme or reason I followed them to their origin. I hadn’t planned on spending my day with companions but even now, with the intent to intrude, I was still quite delighted to find Murdock –my newest friend- among the small company. I trilled happily to the stallion before offering a hearty, “Greetings Murdock. It’s nice to see you again.” It hadn’t been long since I’d last seen the pale-winged stud, but I was enthusiastic nonetheless. His presence was something of a comfort to my lonely soul and I was nothing short of grateful for his ability to hear my woes and accept me as the man I was. But he was not alone and when my gaze desired to stray to his companion, I was mildly shocked by the animal before him.

A gypsy woman with a flowering fig plant upon her back was not something I witnessed every day, but out of curtesy for our guest, I was careful to mask my interest in her peculiar extension and instead offered her a warm smile. “Welcome dear. Being that I’m late to the party, might I be so humbled to know your name?” It was hard to face her directly with my attentions so wholly averted to the tree perched symmetrically between her shoulders, but after a moment of deliberation and confusion, I finally turned my deep brown eyes to her face (and one of overlooked beauty at that). “I’m Thor, Specter of the Edge.” My voice was soft and inviting as I lingered hesitantly before the mare like a frail willow in the wind. I was certain that one of my companions would be able to enlighten me as to why the mare had found her way to our borders, but I did not find it a necessary topic to be discussed directly because it appeared that they had only just made introductions as well.

As my thoughts drifted into the quiet of oblivion, I pondered why it was that I thought the mare to be unusual in the wake of my own decomposing appendages. They were still a source of pain and served to remind me of my encounter in the Steppe… one that I wished to forget if only to erase the agony humming softly through my shoulders and back. I had grown accustomed to the tenderness and the pain, but it appeared to me that the wings would be lost altogether now… However, something in their decaying made me… exultant? Happy? Overjoyed? I would no longer be the stallion with the fragile wings... No, instead I would simply be Thor and there was something in that, that soothed me. Curious eyes would never see me as an oddity again… I would be normal.

But I still had a ways to go… The bone of my wings, now exposed, had grown brittle and chipped. The feathers had gone weeks ago and now most of the flesh had sloughed away as well, revealing only the delicate wingspan at its core. The nakedness and vulnerability had kept me within the safety of the Edge but I’d felt better than I had in weeks. The swollenness in my stomach had receded and the faint black smoke that often permeated the open wounds at the base of my appendages lingered no more. To say that I was changing would be a great understatement, but at least there now lay a light at the end of the tunnel; or so I hoped.

With all thoughts of my transformation aside, I focused once more on the gypsy girl and Murdock, still more intrigued by her state of living than the transition occurring in my own life. After all, even if I held the torch in my own thoughts, she held the spotlight in reality.