There was something wrong, and panic rang through the breast of the dark princess. She was frantic, her canter haphazard as she chased after the scent of her father. It was almost as if he disappeared into the majestic blue lava, but Aviya knew better than that, and so she searched. She continued to search for what seemed like an eternity before her cloven hooves stilled for mere seconds. It was instantaneous, the cloud forming at her ankles. It was like her magic, and she felt like she could not move. A sharp breath of shock was the only noise she made, however, as she began lifting off the ground and towards the sky. The fuck--!? This was a first, and she looked around with wide blue eyes. In the distance an island formed, floating in the sky with nothing holding it up. Wide eyes narrowed skeptically. This place had never existed before in her life in Helovia, but perhaps the gods enjoyed playing tricks on the mortals.

Once her elegant hooves hit solid earth again Aviya galloped. She galloped towards a line of trees, quick to get away from the cliffs edge. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she came to a halt. That was something the girl did not want to experience again, but knew in the back of her mind she would have to to return to her home. Sighing, the assassin let her head hang low for a few moments, crystalline eyes closing as she caught her breath. As she inhaled deeply, a familiar, musky scent entered her system once more and she remembered her initial mission. Father! Her crowned head snapped up, ears perked and eyes wide as she scanned the island. Her frosted hair caught in the breeze, reminiscent of the summer, for the winter's touch had not reached this island. The wind carried his scent easily, and Aviya surged after it.

Her run was only a few minutes long, and in the distance a fuzzy bay figure emerged. Slowing as the yards between them decreased, Aviya finally was walking by the time she was as near to the poisoner as his cave in the Basin was wide. His rage was seething, his body fuming. Aviya knew her father well, and this anger was not the usual cloud of angst and hatred that followed him. No, this was something different, something wrong, something provoked. With a furrowed brow and crooked head, the Doctor's daughter finally spoke. "Daddy?" She sounded like a foal, like she had the winter she was born. Her voice was soft and fragile, tones of the once sickly filly ringing through it. She was truly concerned for this man before her, her father, her strength, her rock, her teacher.


@[d'Artagnan]