Eventide is softly casting o'er the earth a magic spell,

And a love-song, everlasting, on the night wind seems to swell.

Flying. It was better than she could ever have imagined. There existed no words to describe the wild, fierce joy in soaring weightlessly through the heavens, rising in vast spirals on warm updrafts whilst the splendor of the world spread out beneath your feet. The air was so clean up there, so fresh and sweet that inhaling too deeply left you dizzy and overwhelmed, drugged on oxygen and the joy of being alive.

For one who had spent the latter part of her life hampered and slowed by a dysfunctional body, it was even more liberating. The process of learning had been long and there were still many things she didn't know about wind and terrain and the effects weather could have, but it didn't matter because finally Erthë was free, able to travel as far and fast as she wished without having to consider her accursed legs.

Without even thinking about it, she set her course for the northern expanse. Wiser horses might have warned her to stay close to home until she had learned to control herself in the air, but she hadn't asked for advice before leaving. The high of flying was better even than chewing poppy, Erthë admitted herself to be hopelessly addicted already and wouldn't have accepted a cure even if there was one. In the manner of most young people she thought herself near invincible, strong and able, perfectly capable to look after herself. She would be a yearling soon, once the leaves had changed color and shed from the trees in welcome of the first snow, and though she would always remain small and lithe of built it meant that she was not a child anymore.

Jubilant she swept across the vast inland sea, the journey laced with pauses where she practiced the more difficult parts of flying, like landing and takeoff. She swam through icy lakes and grazed from the wide-stretched meadows on the southern parts of the tundra, played tag with hawks and eagles in the eastern mountains. And when she saw the trees change color from subdued greens and autumn yellows into a uniform crimson, she lowered herself down in lazy circles, wings cutting gracefully through layers of cloud while she searched for that one clearing where, it seemed, everything had begun.

What she would do there, Erthë didn't know. Like so many times before the red forest with it's bloody falls worked a strange magic on her, both pulling her in and filling her with a deep set revulsion. Bad things had happened in this forest, and it had been the start of a conflict that ultimately robbed her of both family and health... But at the same time it was impossible to hate the place, because it possessed a bittersweet beauty, of the kind that made you want to heave deep sighs and write bad poetry.

And who knew; something new might have appeared there since last she'd visited. If nothing else, she could pay her respects to the spirit of the Bear God.