The warmer air brought with it clearer skies and rising air currents that made the Edge a pleasant place to live for a pegasus.  Especially Iona, one who spent more time in the air than on the ground since she had figured out how to use her wings (months before Aly figured out hers, she might add).  Warm air meant more gliding and less flying, facilitating extended exploration and patrol in the air with very little effort.  However, after hours in the sky, Iona began to get the distinct feeling that she was putting off the task of getting to know her new herdmates.  Avoidance – her old friend.  She huffed and shifted just so, changing the airflow over her wings and bringing her back over the deathtrap glass wall and into the heart of the edge.  Her hooves clattered against smooth stone as she absorbed the impact, taking a few steps to slow her momentum.
 
Iona tucked her wings neatly against her sides – concealing the ugly scars around both wing joints.  She had been worried about the lasting effects of her injuries.  Though she was healed hours after the…encounter, which had left her so broken, she wasn’t sure if the magic would restore them completely.  But her wings had yet to falter.  She felt no fatigue, no soreness, no stiffness to indicate that there was something below the surface to draw her attention.  All that remained were the ugly stains upon skin that now served as a permanent reminder that trust was not something to be given freely - especially in a world where magic permeated every facet of life.  Iona appreciated magic, she could recognize the inherent value in it, but she was always wary.  That wariness served her well now.  Maybe some called it paranoia or overprotectiveness, but Iona would take the flak over another attack any day.
 
The painted pegasus let out a soft huff and craned her neck around, green eyes always searching the shadows.   Finding no eminent danger lurking in the shadows, she turned and headed closer to the cliff edge at a leisurely pace.  She finally drew to a halt a safe distance from the sheer edge, resting a hind leg as she listened to the distant sounds ocean throwing itself against the rocks below.  Salt was heavy in the breeze and washed gently over the edge, whipping her eternally windblown mane into a further frenzy.  Yet, overall, it was a peaceful picture and she couldn’t help but think aloud, with a sigh, “I could get used to this.”