The chill of winter faded much too quickly. To the snow-loving young dove it seemed snow had barely managed to cover the ground before it disappeared again, thinned and faded by the renewed brightness of the sun. She read relief on the faces she saw, noticed how everyone seemed to stretch and shrug off a lethargy she never noticed before, watched moods brighten and smiles reawaken all around. It wasn't really spring yet, per se, because the wind was still cold and the ground remained frozen and covered in ice, but there was no denying the clear blue slivers of sky that poked through the tattered clouds racing across the sky or the sound of running water all throughout the lands.

Personally, it all just made Erthë want to sigh. Summer was not a good season for her, cold-bodied and soft-skinned as she was, and quite aside from the torturous temperatures there were memories associated with that time of year that she'd rather not recall.

The changing of seasons also reminded her that time was flying by, much faster than she had anticipated. On her long journeys across Helovia it was easy to lose track of of the passing days, they all just melted together to form a hazy blur of endless horizons and the gentle caress of the wind, smelling sweetly of ocean, grass and freedom. It was so easy to forget that she had friends, so easy to lose track of those fleeting, fragile bonds that she so took for granted. It was with a taste of guilt in the mouth that she headed for the Falls one bright spring morning, sweeping in on a strong southern breeze to look for one of her older friends. Murtagh seemed to keep himself holed up in the herd for the most part - or, more likely, was chained in place by his freakishly over-protective mother - so if she wanted to see him it was always she who had to seek him out. Erthë had mixed feelings about that. On one hand she really enjoyed every second spent with the colt, but on the other they were always forced to play under the stern, watchful eyes of the Poisoner. To someone so free-spirited and independent as Erthë it was stifling, claustrophobic - she always had to battle an urge to grab a mouthful of the bear-lovers mane and drag him away, make him run off and be a bit rebellious.

Perhaps Lakota had a good reason to be cautious about the odd, limping little girl that tried to monopolize the time and affections of her son.

In the bright, nippy hours of early afternoon said troublemaker landed cautiously on the usual spot near the border to the forested canyon. Wary of guards yet familiar enough with the more official trails by now - and hoping that she would be sufficiently recognized if she was indeed caught by a patrol - she limped on down along a slithering path with the snaking tail held aloft, praying that she would be able to find her friend alone for once.

"Murtagh" she called, on softly chiming silver cords. "You home? It's me..."

Odds were high. Where would he go if he left here? It shamed her that she didn't know - they had never really talked about things like that. Did it mean she didn't actually know him either? Were they truly friends, even though they only saw one another every once in a while?

She wanted to be though. So Erthë persisted and pressed on, walking deeper into the herdlands territory in her search for the colt.

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Waiting for the rain I'm bracing for the thunder
A twig that wouldn't sway in the wind