Summer was slowly but steadily drawing to a close. Erthë had never experienced this particular change in seasons before and that was perhaps the reason why she was so sensitive to the signs. Because they were there. Not many, oh no, and not all that apparent yet, but gradually they made themselves more noticeable. For starters, the sky wasn't as clear as it had been earlier in the season. While still for the most part high and bright, clouds had taken up the habit of converging after the morning hours had passed, drifting on rapid currents of wind so that tears formed, altered, disappeared and reformed on the sky. Together with this came a cantering of the wind from south to east and sometimes even north, such that the ever crashing waves beyond the cliffs frothed and reared in protest. The temperature remained high with quite enough moisture to be getting on with, but as soon as the sun dropped beneath the horizon a new coolness could be found in the wind, not quite enough to make you shudder but at least to the point where it no longer felt clammy and uncomfortable to sleep next to someone.

The filly watched these small adjustments with wide eyed curiosity and seemed determined to sate her curiosity on every little detail. Soon she had made it a habit to start every conversation with a note on the weather, just so she could pester anyone she spoke to with questions, most of whom began with the word 'why'. Why did the clouds change color from blinding white to purplish black as the weather changed, why had the leaves and the grass turned from a bright, limeish green to dark, dusty hues, how come the sun had begun to set earlier and earlier and why, why weren't the stars in the same place as they had been before? The world was a mystery, a delightful puzzle she longed to solve, and no petty problems like a broken leg or dead mothers could keep her from working on it on a daily basis.

There was just one thing that could distract her from nature's riddles, and that was flying. Iona had been kind enough to give her a lesson before, but though she had practiced hard the filly just couldn't get the hang of it. The morning was cloudy and dull and rain fell in a thin drizzle by the time she went looking for the Specter. Erthë had a suspicion that the weather might not be the best to fly in - already her wings felt heavy and unruly with damp, and her hair had tightened into a curly white frizz that brought to mind a startled sheep - but at least she wanted to try. Nothing had really happened in a while and she was growing restless, desperate for something to occupy the racing, easily distracted thoughts with.  

Erthë

the      night      is      calling      my      name