Just before sunup, the world was awash in muddy gray mist. In the darkness, Birdsong and Frostfall wore the same pall of silence and gloom. The world would have continued on in its comfortable routine if not for the broad shape of a mare breaking through foggy banks and her soft alto breaking through the still silence.

Cheska couldn't remember the lyrics to this particular aria, but she knew it was a very old song, sung by her ancestors for many generations back. She was fairly sure that it was something about gods. Or foals who wouldn't go to sleep. Or a particularly intelligent snail. Something like that. In any case, it was a familiar, pretty tune that distracted her from sore hooves and creeping regrets. She kept pace at a rhythmic strut to provide percussion, cracking a wayward branch here or there. She'd never dare to make her music so freely among strangers, but the forest was an old friend to her, and far too quiet without the accompaniment.

She moved with surefooted purpose, tugged along by an irresistible thread toward parts unknown. She was fairly sure she'd been going the right way when she'd run into a very fashionable and rather talkative crow a few miles back. She tried to recall if she'd ever heard a crow speak before. She didn't think she had… but perhaps she'd just not been listening before. A shame, she conceded, because surely one who could see above the clouds would have an entirely different perspective from one so inexorably tied to the earth as she.

She had realized at the sight of him that she'd come upon a different place entirely. Strange how their worlds could collide with such ease with only the exchange of a few words. And she'd been too distracted to even remember them. But she didn't think they were important so much as the warning tone had been. Perhaps crows were just a superstitious sort, though.

Her mother had once said that the first languages of their people had been long lost to the annals of time. At the time, Cheska had believed her only because of her youthful indifference to the conversation. But she'd seen many lands now and found many friends. Some spoke other tongues and some spoke not at all. She'd realized that the oldest of languages were not spoken in words. Rather, they were deeper connections and exchanges. They were gazes passed between lovers and the sighs of a new mother and the nudge of hips and shoulders amongst herdmates.

She wanted so badly to speak that language again.

She lifted her head, delicate, one-size-too-small ears flickering just to the east where she could see the first ribbons of sunlight beginning to creep through the trees. The sound of something stirring pulled her concentration, and she picked up her pace, letting her voice fade to silence. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or that two seasons of silence had rendered her absolutely mad without her realization.

She doubted that very much. These were claiming grounds, and the language of seduction, whether physical or political, was one that had always intrigued her. It was intrinsic to every one of them, but different somehow in every exchange. She was inching to relearn that subtle, intricate dance. She was determined to learn the language of this land, and carry it with her like the precious others.

She stopped near a clearing, spattered coat just beginning to glint coppery brown as the sun dappled it. She knew that fate could hardly be relied upon to find her what she needed. So, careful not to sound distressed or otherwise deceptive, she let a quiet nicker slip into the morning mist.

And just like every time before, it was like some new but ancient language was blooming up from within, instinctual and unspeakable.

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ooc] please feel free to not match the length of this, I was having some word-vomit. So excited to meet all of you! <3