[url=http://helovia.net/member.php?action=profile&uid=3490]

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I stumbled through the world with an elegance unheard of, refined and quiets despite the unsteadiness of my mind and uselessness of the wings at my sides. I traveled solely by foot, only unfurling them to cross the gap between the Throat and the rest of the world. I was forever uncertain of what lay ahead, what sort of land I was headed towards when my hooves left the ground and I entered a world that held nothing but patches of condensed water and emptiness— it expanded forever in my mind, a blank body that stretched over the world, wrapped it up and consumed it entirely. Mother used to tell me the sky was beautiful, that the stars burning up in the night sky were the best she'd ever seen, that the way the light reflected on the clouds during sunset and sunrise would never cease to take her breath away. And I was to listen closely, to admire and adore the idea of the sky, to dream of witnessing the events she so cautiously described.

But it never was, and never will be, for my world is darkness, shreds of light dancing across milky eyes but nothing more— it was a hopeless thing to dream of.

I took steps away from the Throat, took time to wander through Helovia on my own, to navigate through sound, touch, smell, listening to the ocean's roaring waves grow silent as I wandered from the shore. I began making my way further inland until the sound of rustling trees overwhelmed me, birds serenading the crisp birdsong day as I venture farther. I walk with my wings wide open, brushing along the trees, snagging against the branches and pushing on. I had no purpose, no reason to go this far from the Throat, but I continue to wander.

My ears strain, listening for the sound of hooves crushing sticks beneath them, marching carelessly through the forest, ignoring the harmony of the wildlife and treading wearily past the scenery they could see. They take that gift, the blessing of having eyes that see, that can admire the world, and ignore what has been given to them. Beneath my breast, frustration takes root, bears a bud that will soon bloom. They crush the flora beneath their feet, ruin all of the flowers my mother used to tell me about, blooming everywhere the moment the snow began to melt, when the world began to rise up again after months of hibernation, blossoming anew and filled with life.

The smell hits me before the shouts do, halting to inhale deeply, to focus on the scent that lingered around my lips, that stuck out against the peace of the undergrowth like a sore thumb. It was refreshing, salty, almost more alive than the forest around me, something foreign but beautiful, if a smell could ever be such— "Hello?" Is my only response, ears sliding back at the panic and firmness, the demand echoing through the voice. I felt my body stiffen, fear nibbling away at my insecurity at the bellow, eyes wide and wings flaring outwards— they scrape along the trees, raking over branches and leaves.
“talk talk talk.”