Dusk swept day away with a vibrant palette of colors; deep magenta and orange and gold, with the occasional cloud rimmed in bright pink and light yellow, drifting over the snow-capped mountains of pale purple. There was no lack of color in Helovia, he had noticed, given his vision of the world were the faraway memories of Anarore, desaturated in comparison, perhaps a snatch of dark dull bloodred, or the electric cobalt of pulsating runes.

The dripping colt rested by a grove of stunted windblown trees, their skeletal arms offering only minimal protection from the dying rays of hot sunlight. Since his discovery of the immense waterfall at the center of the Foothills, the hardy dun had embraced it as his home, playing in the cool shallow pool at its foot during the hottest hours of the day, lingering beneath the looming shelves of stone when the world grew dark. He had scarcely seen anyone else at this oasis, save for the occasional wren, which led him to wonder if he was the first to find the white veil of water crashing down like all his troubles. The prospect of being an explorer, a pioneer, brought him unjustifiable joy, so he pretended to being the sole witness of this brilliant cascade.

His dragon companion sat on the stony ground with a plump mouse before him, hunched over as he tore it apart with his wicked teeth. Fur clung to the scales of his jaw, an absurd beard of mute grey fluff with the occasional accent of white. Jack watched his friend, mesmerized by the brilliant play of colorful light across his metallic bronze body. Belatedly, the pungent scent of blood and meat entered his nostrils, causing the colt to flick his ears backwards in disgust. How could such a wonderful creature devour something so foul? The consumption of living, breathing things always perplexed him, and his dragon, a blatant carnivore, was no exception.

When the bronze finished picking off the bones, the duo crept down the mountain, through a narrow stony pass, raw granite and gravel crunching beneath the strong horn of his broad striped hooves. His heels clicked cordially on the rock, accompanied by the muted sound of leather wings gliding over thick summer air. His hide was cloaked by the shadows of the mountains, slanting down greedily as the sun continued its descent.

From his vantage point, the appaloosa colt could see the entire herdland bathed in golden light, the distant specks of horses grazing in the glades between trees as entrancing as the play of light and shadow across his bronze friend's scales.

Continuing down the steep trail, his dragon fluttering over the gutwrenchingly open air besides him, Jackal spied two horses in the distance below him - a handsomely colored chestnut stranger and the familiar robe of a grulla mare. Excitedly, the young dragon flitted down to greet them. The colt smiled with impossible fondness toward his bonded, and he moved swiftly down the trail to meet the equines gracelessly.

When he could see their features, he paused respectfully, a brief wind coaxing his wild tail into a style which suspiciously resembled the tail feathers of a turkey. He smiled at his great-aunt first, and then at the stranger. Dei flew away easily from the other two and perched easily on his bonded's shoulders, solemnly sending the gruesome image of a half-healed scar and a milky pale eye. The stallion, he is wounded? The colt could only see the stallion's whole side, the healthy brown iris. He wondered how such an injury had come to be, but decides against the rudeness of asking.

"Smoke," the yearling said tentatively, his youth evident in the uncertainty of his speech. Eyes of mercury and quicksilver and sapphire, speaking of cornflower skies and gentle babbling streams and unspeakable sorrows, find themselves focused upon the newcomer, but he could not bring himself to say anything to the chestnut for some reason, resigning himself to watching and listening.

[please kick me if I'm making too many assumptions of their location xP]