Mom was out,
again, so Iskra decided he could go out too!
It was his first time venturing beyond the Throat without some member of his family in tow. The fact his wings were still young to fly him across should have been an indication that maybe he shouldn't, but another part of him, the boy part, or the young part, or both just said
to hell with it!. What else were magical fire wings for? He had to wait until someone else with a key was crossing of course, but it was easy enough to get across; they didn't pay him any mind, he was part of the herd after all and he wasn't their son so what did they care?
Plus, being the good kid hadn't earned him much, but maybe some mischief would. On the inside Iskra wasn't counting this as a desperate plea for attention from his mom, but if you really analyzed this little act of reckless abandon, that's probably what it was. To Iskra though, it was just adventure! Exciting, alone, kind-of-dangerous adventure. It was as thrilling as it was paralyzing, but fortunately Iskra's natural tendency for smiles and fearlessness overwhelmed the latter feeling. The worry subsided, drifting out like low tide in his being, as he instead raced down the beaches whooping and hollering, only stopping when exhaustion struck him in the Flats.
Sides heaving, ears flicking, eyes bright, Iskra pranced through the salted terrain, marveling at the reflections the shallow water cast off. It was like staring into a different world, this sky reflected back at him, so bright and promising even among the Frostfall chill and the political gloom.
Knowing better than to drink this water (he'd already tried at the ocean once, bad choice), Iskra was still thirsty. He struck out a hoof and attempted to carve out the soil with it, hoping there might be something less salted underneath
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