Weird, isn't it? How even the lonely crave solitude? After a while, the heaviness of eyes and the tangle of voices is too much; even the rough familiarity of family drives you away. A part of you misses them even as you delve into the trees, shadows dappling your flanks and rushing across your young wings. That same part drags one black eye back every now and then, watching as the rest of Helovia falls behind. Every breath and whisper of things known abates; ahead lies mystery. Ahead lies the unknown, the cry of wild lands and loneliness and blessed solitude.

Your new heart beats a little faster.

Maybe you're too young to be this torn, this extravagant with wonder and emotion, but everything happens to you in full force. The wonder weighs even with the sorrow; your head cranes around to face forward again and you gaze up at the boughs with veiled eyes, your ears twitching to the sounds of your own small hoof beats and the noises of the creatures in the wood. What would they say if you could understand them — those little things? With a huff, you dismiss the thought. Things lesser than you can be ignored, can't they?

Something else, something exciting, glitters up ahead, anyway. It lies nestled in the trees like a secret, like something guarded by the slow sentience of the forest. Your hooves pick up a little higher at the first glimpse, and tail aloft, you prance forward, your eyes filling with color and grandeur. It's not a tree; it's not like anything you know, though it reminds you somehow of the broken sentinel. This thing is prettier than the sentinel, of course. It spills colored sunlight onto smooth stone; it stands silent and lovely as a dream, and as you approach, your hooves clattering on the floor, the music of water trembles into your ears.

Oh —

Something in your chest constricts; you go careening back, the muchness of the place beating hard in your heart, and before you remember, your young voice calls out in a tone at once demanding and afraid. "Ma — !" But Virga, she isn't here. And Vesper isn't here. And Mesec isn't here; you've left them behind. You've come alone on purpose, weary of being seen, but the price is what you see now with your own eyes goes unshared.

An ear flicks back as the consequences of your youthful belligerence sink in. You sort of wish your family came when called, and not just when they felt like it. You sort of wish — Oh, I don't know.

That you had friends?