Saoirse wasn’t entirely sure what was happening to him. He felt cold and guarded, recluse and needy. Nervous, and, as a result – fatigued and nearly lifeless at times, accompanied by the dying beam within his eyes.

What were these feelings?

The boy attempted to fill his thoughts with flying. With a hard start, the boy flapped heavily until his wings carried him into the airy berth of the sky. And where one might feel freedom and jubilation, Saoirse struggled to escape from the woes that plagued his soul. Stranger, and foreign to their invasion.

The eternity above and beyond frightened the boy, and freedom did not beckon hope into his being. The wind felt rough and harsh, whereas he would have preferred a soft, velvet muzzle instead.

Perhaps, then, it was desperation that led him towards the call. His mother was a healer, would she be present? Perhaps he should have known better than to expect her. Nonetheless the boy persisted, and found the source of the call accompanied by another foal, and the glittering body of a white dragon.

The boy made a rare and nimble land more than a few strides away. Kicking up dust from the halting brushes of his wings, and the dirt his hooves trailed against – halting to a stop. Sea green eyes took in the dragon, before approaching the mare and foal, wondering if they were related. A mindless grunt reverberates from his nostrils, just before settling ahead of the mocha mare.  

“Hello.”

He stared at the mare first. Unfamiliar to her, he tried to make out the small subtle markers of her face, the curl to her ears, the interesting jewelry about her head and the gilded tattoo about her leg. Saoirse blinked, before finally regarding the other colt.

Wingless, he thought. Both.

He thought of smiling, but didn’t feel like it. He thought he should have known the other colt too, but there wasn’t anything significant he could recall from the past. He stared for a moment too long before saying, “Hey.” Then shot his gaze back to the adult, spreading out his red tinged wings – ruffling them briefly, before folding them back again. Tight and secure against his sides.

“My mother’s a healer… What are we going to do today?”

It wouldn't make a difference, but somehow speaking like she would pop up out of nowhere seemed to settle his nerves.