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

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

It was nothing new for outsiders to come calling at the edge of the woods. Few dared move past the crumbling glass wall to enter the misty shadows beyond, daunted perhaps by the density of the vast canopy or else worried about what the natives might say. This was as it should, apparently, because beyond this unassuming line of trees could be found the very edge of the world, and it was wise to tread lightly upon lands blessed by the infamous Moon Goddess.

More often than not, they came calling for the king. Rumors must already have begun to spread about the shift in leadership, because lately the traffic had been greater than usual. Emissaries arrived from foreign herds to extend congratulatory words of welcome all while keen eyes absorbed what they could of internal structures. Prodding, no doubt, for signs of weakness within the Elephant King, his herd or the forces of the land itself.

They would be hard pressed to find any such thing. The transition from one ruler to another had been quiet and pain free, with no objections raised and a general air of acceptance lingering over the herd. Tembovu was liked by many, a strong and able man that was easy to like. Compared to the quiet, withdrawn Mauja or the so often absent Torleik he was a dream come true. Ever since he accepted the crown the trickle of fresh blood to the herd had grown into a steady stream, new faces appearing amidst the trees by the day. Voices rang wherever one went now, and there was a bustling, busy yet somehow excited activity going about. A rebirth of the herdland that once had been amongst the strongest in Helovia, World's Edge was a force to be reckoned with again.

As such, it was without surprise nor any particular interest a pale filly registered a call for the big stallion. Poor Tembu must be running himself to exhaustion every day in the struggle to find and attend every visitor that required his presence. Maybe they should get the Glaziers to build him a hall, a throne room where they could come to him instead. She remembered the stained glass roof of an ancient rotunda hidden in a grove further south and tried to picture what such a thing might look like here. Maybe it could be built on the cliffs by the sea, where the sun would set in the sea behind the back of the monarch and light of both sun and moon could break through colored tiles set into elaborate patterns.

The thought made her smile as she picked her way slowly across a glen, grazing upon the rich grasses that thrived amidst the giant roots. Other rulers might find such a structure impressive, but her friend hardly needed anything else to draw attention to him. He was big enough for three already and it just didn't seem like him to hold audience with ceremonies, crowns and all those other things she'd thought kings were about.

So used to the constant summons was she, that it took the filly some time to realize that another name had been called, just after that of the mammoth. Blinking, she raised her head and gazed in the direction of the southern border, ears twitching to catch the echo of a voice she somehow felt she ought to recognize. Surely no one would call on her. Had they mistaken the name, and intended for Elsa, the general, to come? Troubled now and unwilling to get mixed up in any confused situations, the young hybrid shook her head to rid the view of silken curls and began to walk towards the caller, as curious as she was annoyed to have been interrupted in her meal.

Walking was cumbersome with the limping stride. She left the guest waiting for quite some time before her pale form materialized from within the swirling mist. Pale as the drifting vapor, every step silent and moving as softly as drifting snow Erthë looked around in search of the voice's owner. She had changed too, as was in the nature of young people. During the season that had passed since she met Nephele in the Threshold forest the white dove had grown several inches, her milky body no longer spindly and frail but graceful instead, lean and willowy with a gentle, ethereal glow to her that would never quite disappear no matter how many years went by. Her horns had grown out almost fully by now, smoothly curving from the poll and cupping the cheeks with a frosty gleam. The eyes that searched for and landed upon the red-marked pegasus were pale and held a frightening amount of knowledge for one so young, intelligence burning clear and bright beneath the smooth brow.

Erthë gazed at the mare for a while, took in the rippling muscles and shimmering coat, trailed from the thick sun-bleached mane to a new symbol on the flank she couldn't remember seeing before. Her face was impassive for the duration of several moments; then, quite suddenly, the filly smiled and made to close the distance between them.

"So it was my name I heard, after all" she murmured, laughter playing within voice and glittering like ghostly lights in her eyes. "Hello Nephele. You look well - the dragons of the Throat didn't eat you?"

She extended a silky nose in a greeting, not quite ready for hugs yet but not half as averse to the dark colored mare as she had been upon their first meeting.