Howl found himself drawn to the beautiful Rotunda once again, however this time he was accompanied by a little cloud of leaf-winged butterflies. They fluttered delicately around him as he made his way through the snow. It had taken him weeks of concentration to develop his creations, painstakingly exercising the new muscle in his brain which ruled his magic. The last time he had come to the rotunda, the grey had been only able to craft one feeble creature which fluttered tremulously on flimsy wings. Now, they twirled and dipped and danced all around him, catching the dusk sunlight with leafs of varying shades of brown and rust. Now that snow obscured everything in sight, it was quite difficult to acquire leaves of sufficient quality to supplement his magic. The ones he did find were tucked carefully into his mane, only to be used when the extant creatures inevitably fell apart.

As he had been distracted by the gold-marked stallion on his previous visit, Howl had not been able to investigate the interior of the regal structure. With a sense of conviction only the chronically curious are able to feel, the stag approached the building, nose thrust confidently ahead of him. One dark hoof was placed hesitantly on a cracked step—after a moment of complete and utter silence, another followed, and then another, until his entire form was perched over the steps, swaying with an air of uncertainty. Would some strange god come down to smite him if he entered the shrine? The grey watched the wavering fabric intently, sometimes catching glimpses of the jewel-bright colors dancing on the Rotunda's floor between the gaps in the drapes. Both forelegs placed securely on the top step, he pitched his weight forwards, pushing his face between the pale curtains before him. When he ascertained that there were no idols or any other religious symbols housed within the structure, the rest of his body followed. Almost surreptitiously, as if intruding in some sacred space, Howl and his fluttering retinue moved through the Rotunda. A million shards of colors played on his otherwise drab coat, shifting with every minute movement he made.

The rustle of hooves through fresh snow somewhere outside interrupted the grey's musings. He almost let them pass without a reaction on his part, but a call followed the hooves, a deep roar which echoed against the granite and stone of the shrine. Kianzo. Howl's ears tilted backwards, casting an expression of uncertainty on his slender face. What was that? Although he had learned a great deal of the Common Tongue since he was a child—to the point where he bore no perceivable accent—there were many words he was not familiar with. Was Kianzo a name? Or perhaps a greeting of sorts? As far as he knew, the deep-voiced stranger was not aware of his presence, so he made the decision to peek through the drapes in order to determine his next course of action. Due to his lengthy horn, it was quite difficult to remain incognito, so he shoved his face through the curtains without any pretense of stealth.

Before the Rotunda was a creature of considerable mass and strange coloring; a stallion that recalled a more primal nature—he was closer to the wild than any other horse Howl had ever seen. The stranger seemed quite agitated, a distraught expression playing on the long lines of his face. He lingered by the stairs, a massive hoof colliding with the structure with a force that seemed to Howl to almost make the entire building tremble. Although he had the good fortune to not have encountered any ill-willed souls during his time in Helovia, he always thought it prudent to be cautious around strangers, especially ones that could easily crush him beneath a single hoof. However, before he could attempt any sort of greeting, another voice rang through the dusky winter glade, this time more feminine in tone. Moments later, a pale mare came into view, not as tall as the stallion, but perhaps just as substantially built. She spoke of searching for someone, which elucidated the entire situation for Howl—Kianzo and Merialeth, and that explained why both of them seemed so fraught. His head still thrust between the two drapes, Howl cleared his throat politely, as to not startle the two. "Excuse me," he began, watching both giants with both curiosity and concern. "Can I be of any help?"


My sandpaper sigh engraves a line into the rust of your tongue