He had come from a world known only to vagabonds and raconteurs, one too familiar to his own gypsy heart.  Atlas was a man who was increasingly comfortable with his desires and having them whetted by those willing to bend to him. Whether that made him selfish or vile, the stallion was not concerned. He breathed the essence of life as if it were a fine drink or a delectable food- he’d been spoiled by his ability to persuade the masses with his appearance alone. That arrogance had left him lacking, that much was certain, and it made leaving his simplest feat yet. But, Helovia had enraptured him and stolen his need to run from all that threatened to bound him. He had disappeared from this place just as easily as the last and the vacancy he’d left behind was quickly filled. It did hurt him to remember how he’d taken refuge within the open arms of some he considered friends, but Atlas had never mastered the art of friendship… He simply couldn’t understand the relationship shared between those who sat and talked about their days as they wasted away beneath a dying sun. Were they not meant to be something more than that? He’d been born into the world a man of sensation and he wanted to feel all that the cosmos had to offer. He wanted to taste and to touch, to hear and to see everything around him with such vivid remembrance.

That need for dreaming and for wondering had all but depraved him of the kind of company he so desired though. Atlas was not one to settle so easily when he knew that there existed a creature out there meant solely for him. They would be able to understand him and his musings, his ravings, and even his moments of utter silence. He’d yet to find anyone so like his dreams and therefore felt he would remain the only of his kind. Everyone he’d met had been too superficial, too transformed by their convictions and their beliefs to see beyond the monotony they lived by. Each and every one of them, Ashamin, Tiamat, and even those of the Basin, had all craved the approval of one another- a family. Atlas was not so moved by the notion of togetherness, but more so by an unshakable bond that was recognized and cherished simply because it surpassed the mindless oaths one declared because it was required. Love, friendship, hatred- they were all just emotions that drove the common man to believe himself accomplished. But, Atlas wasn’t common… at least he prayed to the Gods that he would not become so fettered by such petty ideas.

Perhaps that was why he had avoided returning to the Aurora Basin. It was a stifling place that relied too heavily on expectations.

All thoughts aside however, the stallion was again pressed into the reality of the time he manipulated. He saw only the mare and her star-studded eyes as they glittered happily in the moonlight. Atlas studied her as she shifted from her euphoric song in order to settle again into the bones that bound her to the flats and to the life in which she lived. He wondered briefly if her songs carried her away from herself so that she might transcend the boundaries of her world, because they were in fact that beautiful. She appeared awestruck by his arrival and somehow it was not the most shocking reaction he’d yet received. He, in all his splendor, had not forgotten the way his eyes harbored both the moon and sun and the touch of starlight that shifted across his skin. Atlas did not mind her admiration, but instead relished it as her soft eyes widened, amazed. Through the veil of night he could not decipher her complexion or the mere color of her gaze, but only the light that burned bright in their depths.

Even the creature at her heels appeared a mere figment of the imagination, though Atlas was not unaccustomed to the unusual any longer. He’d met dragon hybrids and their reptilian companions in the past, so was it any wonder that this mare carried beside her a beast just as transcendental? Yet, his curiosities were not kept long by her otherworldly choice of companionship, but rather by her thoughtfulness. The stallion watched pointedly as the light in her eyes shifted downward, toward the answers he sought, but could not see, within the waters at their feet. When at last her voice breeched the soothing quiet of their tentative meeting, Atlas hummed. It was a low and fascinated tune, one that agreed with her whimsical response even if he could not yet decipher how she had plucked her rhythm from the sun. “Then tell me, what chorus do the mountains sing? And the rain?” he prodded boldly.   “How have you the capacity to hear them?”

Did she possess a talent unseen, much like the one that thrummed within his own chest? To prove to himself that it still existed, he closed his eyes in order to feel the warmth and electricity of the magic granted him by the God of Spark. When he again opened them, he glared down upon himself in the gentle tide, tracing the lines of his face as he pondered. Atlas was unmoving when the dove spoke again, this time pressing her will upon him as so many had done before. Lena. It was a name that rolled easily from the tongue in a way that made him want to remember her. The stallion wanted nothing more than to repeat it back to her, but decided against it in fear that she would catch the glint of fascination from his words. “You may call me Atlas,” he answered while looking up from his reflection. Names were unimportant in his opinion, but for the dove he would allow such trivialities, at least for now.