He was exploring again, looking for new rocks across the narrow canal which left his home marooned. West along the shore he wandered, watching the gateway home grow distant and dim. Was Ma looking for him, wondering where her son had gone? He doubted it, though he told himself that this was fine. Of course she was not- she knew he could take care of himself, that he was brave and strong, adventurous and bold. He'd never not come home, after all. He had his amulet, he could make it back across the water (the water that separated him, made him different- but of course he never admitted that, never talked about his dislike for the bridge. Ma approved of it, and Gaucho-Da had made it, and he'd be able to fly over it eventually- or so he kept repeating in the recesses of his mind) by himself.

He just wanted to see. Because maybe, if he stayed out long enough, Ma would come find him, and then he could show her his rocks, and she would be proud of his hobby, his new passion, of him.

It wasn't until the fog punctured his senses that he realized just how far he'd gone. Zèklè had never been to this part of the river, where it opened up and released its load into the sea. He found it titillatingly foreign, an entirely new biome- which meant, of course, entirely new rocks! Eagerly the boy scouted the bank, nose to the earth and wing draped haphazardly across his back to minimize damage from grabby trees. Every now and then he would pause, pushing at a stone or digging in the earth to uncover some particularly beautiful deposit of agate, or long-abandoned onyx, or an opal vein. Often he stumbled, wing splaying out in a flurried attempt at remaining upright. Animals darted past, startling him, making him laugh; he offered a squirrel a particularly fine stone, and paused to chat with a passing fawn.

He wished he could show it all to Ma, or maybe the No-Name girl. She'd love this place. But no, he was alone.

Splash!

Or maybe not. Zèklè started at the distinct sound of hooves kicking through water, proof of another on the river of mist. Could it be... "Ma?" he questioned aloud, young voice wavering with a combined hopefulness and trepidation, eager uncertainty and insolent pitch. He stepped further, peering past the trees and into the water, trying to catch a clarifying glimpse of whatever had made the sound. A flash of white and orange, the rounded shape and elegant tail of a rump- so it was definitely not Ma, or anyone he could think of that he knew. Carefully the boy took a step into the river, spindly legs wobbling in the force of the current. What was it doing?

He was not afraid.

"Hey!" called - hollered - Zèklè the Lightning Child, his voice too loud in the oppressive trees, echoing off the glittering mist. "Watcha' doin'?" He strode closer, wing outstretched in an attempt to stay upright, and stumbled on a loose stone, falling to his knees. "Ouch! I'm ok! Watcha' got?"

Because now he could see that there was clearly something in the water beside her, something that captured the boy's imagination so thoroughly missed the strange, downy wings affixed so bizarrely to the striped mare's head.

---

OOC;; Sorry he's such a spazz! <3
TAG;; @[Maren]