Glory.

Such a small, short, yet profoundly significant word. Two syllables, one word, hundreds of meanings. For a child, 'glory' could be many things. Dreams of adventure, of fame, fortune, prosperity... For elders, it could be passion, loved ones, battle and blood. For Israfel... The word alone was foreign. Glory... What did it mean for her? Would she achieve the understanding of the word through fame? Fortune? Battle? A simple word, yes, but so much more. So much more.

Above her, the sun shown brightly upon the earth, the hot rays of her father's embodiment shining through the thick canopy of trees. It was shortly after the high hour of the day, when the sun was at its apex in the sky, and Israfel positively reveled in the heat. For others it may have been uncomfortable and grueling, but for her, the Sun-Child... It brought life to her bloodstream in ways that nothing else could. Sweat still clung to her pale hide, the golden hued markings that adorned her very person marred by dark rivulets of sweat. Long, curling waves of cascading ivory clung to her neck and face due to the heat, her tail crimping in a rather unsavory manner... And yet Israfel found herself not caring. At least, not entirely. Once she had been a vain creature, and while she still was at times, the pale youth liked to believe that she was ever so slowly changing.

It was quiet here, Israfel decided. The young demi-goddess had come to the Grove to seek solitude and silence. Sharp and cunning vermillion eyes peered around the landscape, taking in the trees, heavy and wilting from the heat of Tallsun, and the inviting depths of the grove waters in front of her. She could understand just why this area of Helovia was the 'land for lovers'. It was beautiful. A small smile upturned the corners of Isra's lips, and with dainty steps, the pale filly began to venture into the depths of the water. Liquid sloshed around golden hooves, then gently caressed upwards against gilded legs, coming to rest against the belly of the young female. Israfel would not venture any deeper, an ever so carefully kept her wings tucked upwards to be kept dry.

The water felt oddly soothing, the clear liquid cool compared to the wrath of the heat. A strange combination, surely, but it wasn't unpleasant. Allowing her orange depths to fall closed, Israfel lifted her head to the sky, breathing through her nostrils. Finally...

Finally.

"Finally..." She whispered to the sky, to the sun, "You've returned to us, to me. Perhaps soon I will come see you, father, but for now I must continue on my own journey, and forge my own path." The God of the Sun had given her the kiln, and now it was simply up to her to craft her desires.