The Threshold is calling me, longing to hear my welcoming voice and feel my dainty hooves pund on its ground. It wants me to come and welcome newcomers. Now that I am home, I will be back to my duties. The ones I perform without even needing to. The ones I decide to do out of the kindness in my heart.
A breeze disrupts the once silent and still night. A large moon casts an orange light over all of Helovia, lighting up the occasional moonflower. A glorious night it is, leaves falling around me, the slight wind carrassing my long sorrel and white locks and causing them to dance in a series of tangles and whips. My forelock tends to sheild my orbs, and wrap around my small harks. Every once and awhile I just flick my dome to one side, and my forelock will reside and slip to the way in which I flicked my cranium, but before I know it, there it is again, causing me much frustration. Behind me, my tail drags back several feet, collecting dirt and leaves at the end. My legs work to keep up my muscular frame. Muscles bulge from my shoulders and my back and rump are rimmed with defined muscles also. Although, I still manage to keep a dainty, but beautiful look.
I walk through the forest, large trees stretch up to touch the skies, and small bushes below them envy their tallness. Grass sheds a tear, knowing that soon it will be dead. The forest is turning a deep brown, the trees almost bare and the grass turning a light brown. With every gust of wind, the trees creak and sway, performing a awkward ballet for all to view. The bushes shudder, and the grass weakly shivers. The path before me is quite wide, and clear for that matter. Of course there is the occasion rotting log and root, but these are easily avoided. I know that ahead is a river that will soon freeze.
As I walk, I become alert, swiveling My ears so they can pick up any noise. And they do, the sound of hoofbeats and some voices. I come to a halt, relizing that who ever is producing the noise is quite close. I listen harder, trying to identify who or what it is. A few moments reveal that is a Stallion and a Mare. The girl's voice is distant; although familiar. Curiosity ebbs at me, and pulls me in the direction of them. I walk slowly toward the source of the sound, and I soon come up on the river. I listen again, identifying that the voices are coming from the left. I turn my head, looking down the river. There I spot a large Stallion with antlers upon his dome and a leather sack around his shoulders. Around his neck is what seems to be a necklace. I walk toward him, right on the bank. I am careful not to slip into the chilly waters that could become the death of me. But, I do flick my tail so that it drags in the shallows of the clear river, hoping the current will carry away the leaves and dirt that have become entwined with it.
I am about 10 feet from him when I call out, a soft nicker that is carried on the breeze. He had been talking to someone, probably the female that I heard, but I do not spot the mare. She must be around somewhere.
" Hello. I'm Harmony, pleased to meet you. "
A scent overtakes me before I can continue what I was about to say. With a gasp I realize, slowly turning my head to look on the other side of the river. The girl... She isn't just any girl, that's my girl. Abishia! My beautiful painted daughter. I gasp again, my girl. My girl.
" ABISHIA! "
h a r m o n y
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