RUSKE

        Before the mare spoke, her color caught my eye: pale, glimmering white, as if she were a celestial cousin to clouds. Or perhaps to snow – her hooves caught the sunlight in a particular way. My head drew up as she approached, the weed forgotten as more interesting notions pounded at my head – why had the hooves not melted? Why did she wear the frosted marking on her shoulder? She appeared, in all honesty, as an emissary of a season already past.

        I recalled with bitter sorrow the loss of my magic – so briefly won.

        "Good morning." The words broke dryly from my throat – hoarse. I had been caught thinking, rather than preparing for conversation. I had forgotten – as I so easily did – she must also have a thinking mind, in conjunction with her form. With a swallow, I cleared my throat. Were I not so distracted I might have laughed at her use of the word – sir. Very polite. Commendable, in fact. "Exploring," I answered, wary. My eyes ran over the wings folded neatly along her sides. Pale feathers, fine – I supposed they would filter the light when spread. They did not quite hide the hollows in her sides; considering those, I supposed we were two of a pair. Was she alone…?

        But no – she introduced herself as one of the Foothills. One of my ears rotated back; I knew nothing of the place, of course. Mason -- that implied… building? Craftsmanship? Intrigue caught me, and head tilted, I peered at her with the paler of my eyes – an old habit. Perhaps born of a need for intimidation, long ago, when I found others disliked the peculiar shine of it – set so in an uneven face. But my thoughts continued to scatter; I should introduce myself, if I remembered anything of conversation.

        "My name is Ruske," I said, with a twist of my tail. Reluctantly, my eyes crawled up to meet hers – for the sake of appearances. Her wings were much more interesting – and her hooves! I supposed touching was out of the question, at the moment. I took a step forward instead, craning my long neck. She stood of a size comparable to my own, those long feathers tucked so neatly against the svelte curl of her ribs…

        "I am a nurse for the World’s Edge," I explained, as if this should pardon my behavior. "You are quite thin." I might be excused for looking, I supposed, if it was in the interest of her welfare – yes. Smug, I lifted my eyes again toward her own. "Not a bad day." No, not at all. Inching forward another step, I blinked at her. "Improved by your presence, I am sure."

NursE

world's edge