"And now I wish to God that The earth would turn cold
And my heart would forget it's made of glass"

Home. It was a strange term. Taught to her by a scrawny colt on a mountain meadow in early spring, the concept still puzzled her even though her understanding of the implications had increased since then.

Home. A place unto which one belonged. A place one could return to. But also a feeling in the chest when gazing upon a familiar face, when thinking of a lost one, when recalling the voices of dear friends and favored acquaintances. If home was where her heart was, then it would be Helovia, the World's Edge, and the sound of her father's soft breath as they lay side by side, resting.

A strong breeze pushed and pulled at the canopy above her head. Leaves quivered and sighed, shifted restlessly as boughs groaned and bent under its relentless force. It made the moonlight flutter and dance as it filtered down unto the ground, a dance of light and shade across swirling mists. Under the dense canopy, sheltered by row upon row of moss-covered trunks and evergreens it was still, quiet; but the energy of the night vibrated in every fiber of her body, luring her out into the open.

Reaching down to brush an icy nose over the shoulder of her father, Erthë whispered quietly for the rougarou to stay as its head rose sleepily from the ground. Smiling mischievously at her the filly slipped off into the forest, her progress slow and painful due to the injured legs yet determined none the less. If she liked the forest of the Edge during the day, she absolutely loved it by night. It had captivated her from the moment she set foot upon the damp moss, enchanted her as silver mists took her in and embraced the pale flesh with creeping, mysterious tendrils. Erthë loved the sound of wind in the trees, of murmuring waters and the scent of humus, of hidden things, decaying things, of greenery and life and prosperity.

A sacred place, they said, because these were the lands of the Moon and Her wings extended over those who resided here, blessing them with her favor and generosity. As she stepped out through the line of trees and emerged upon the sheer cliffs, barren and jagged and gleaming pale beneath the light of the stars, the child could really believe it. Where else would the new moon shine so brightly and the night air smell so sweet? Inhaling deeply she bathed in the nightly glow, leaning into the gale as it whipped about her, tugging at the feathers and combing invisible fingers through her short, dense curls.

It was quiet, still. Only the crash of waves against jagged rock and the hiss of bowing grass could be heard, and these sounds didn't bother her. They were soothing, allowed her to forget about the gnawing, throbbing pain that had woke her up in the first place. The eyes burned from lack of sleep but she kept them open and stared avidly at the moon, a fascinated, worshiping smile playing across the soft, rosy lips.

A porcelain doll. Not all that innocent, a little chipped and cracked but far from broken; her heart still burned a fierce crimson beneath the wintry shell, encompassing everything and everyone in a passionate love - almost too great for such a small vessel to endure.

"I love you" she whispered to the bright disc, aching and passionate, reveling in her childish devotion as the wind whipped the words from her lips and swept them away.

She loved the night, the moon, the world she had been born into. Though it was painful and difficult and confusing, Erthë loved life with all her heart.

And it felt wonderful.

"And all the pretty tulips would disappear
And never disturb me again"