That river was life and it would continue to tumble this girl; thrash her among the bottom until those rough edges are silken smooth. Experience sanded and polished all children of the flesh, though not all would withstand a mold. They broke, splintered and took thrice as long to become glossy.

I was quiet, bowed because an unseen weight was pressing upon my neck. She revoked my acceptance of blame; honorably taking regret from striking unannounced? Or did this child of night doubt my sincerity? Either way, the topic was pressed on a back burner. Toward her question I replied, "Midas, Czar of Hidden Falls."

An avian cry fills the quiet space between us; tis distant, but I knew the owner immediately. Yon raptor wasn't some ordinary bird of prey. Her voice holds animosity, whelped by a fierce desire to protect. Our conversation was about to receive an interruption because the act of battle had sealed my mind from our bond for the fleetest of moments. Now I could feel their anxiety as it came flooding into my soul like a wave crashing violently upon the shore. Though these emotions are born from another creature, it has a physical effect that leads to a racing pulse.

Another ear piercing shriek, closer now.

Velvet senses drift back a notch, a warning they would see from above, "Midas!?" Fina hissed, telling signs of worry drifting into her tone. "Hold," vocals are strained but firm, "I'm fine." Yar, a leisure word that masks truth...I'm far from 'fine.' Soundless, Neve glides in from behind me, she's a silver light who seems well suited for evening travel. Her immature frame is followed by a sister; whom takes pride in sharply contrasting the eve. This mythical child of sunfury very nearly snarls at the mare who caused blood to be wasted. I glance their way sharply and make a wordless motion for peace. Neve lands on a nearby branch, trembling from nerves, still frightened. She'd watched the first half of our scuffle, but when my mind grew dark, shut off...she fled to find plan B.

"Aye, this is Fina," muzzle drifts to the flaming girl who'd taken a protective place on my rear. Said avian huffs a reply, her flaming breast flares in an unnessary show of strength. It didn't take translation to understand that neither are in a greeting mood, "and Neve," being the gentler of this pair, she merely looks on with those steely eyes. "What does thee go by?" Attention is finally returned.

Some legends are told
Some turn to dust or to gold