Like jagged teeth before the bruised, evening-blue sky, a mountain range rises, ahead - to the north. With glazed eyes and a notably detached expression, the stallion examines the horizon, the sharp, white peaks spanning its long length, and a rocky, rugged tundra-scape rolling down to meet their path. He sighs softly to himself and muses about how absurd it is, that they (he and the porcelain princess), should trudge so primitively across such merciless terrain, while feathers are left wanting, yearning for that famous thrill of wind; perhaps they had not the strength to fly yet anyway, he supposes in silent disconcertment. A least the air he breathes holds the beloved thinness of altitude.

A broad storm-front has been brewing to the east, and the rising resonation of its pulse draws forth the interest of one rogue ear (its twin still cranes forward alertly). He is from island paradise, the tropics, where the monsoonal onslaught seems endless and electricity arcs through a soggy blanket cloud both day and night; yet he has seen nothing of the sort since leaving Manangatang and the distinct static sensation stirs familiar anticipation through his weathered core. Lavish, loose, flaxen tendrils bounce and swing frivolously from and along the horizontal length of his crest, and the chiselled, tapering skull at its narrower end, hides broodingly behind the same; the bountiful forelock which cascades like bright flowing water around cheeky golden tips. Wearily he continues behind them, marching into the wild unknown - and there was something queer, off-putting, about the one that lead (no matter the wellness of his aim).

So much country had been covered, and blindly, yet he dares not severe from the course set for fear of further attack. His skin still crawls with savage paranoia, and he has spent countless hours scrutinising the wilderness mumbling beyond them - her…

Like a babe upon new legs, the delicate doe loses balance, traction, and plunges knuckle first into the wickedly sharp terrain; then, dotingly, and driven by an unfaltering sense of duty, the loaded coils beneath taught golden skin, launch his larger frame quickly into action - again. He rides the wind forward artfully, with bold, feathered arms set ajar and chin tucked against a hot, throbbing jugular. Huge hooves, lost beneath a swirl of loose ivory, touch down safely upon the same grit just as she ascends to continue, but whiskered lips dance across slowly, brazenly seeking to block her way; softly puffing breath bids for cooperation and at the same time, tender eyes survey the glistening bulge of blood above the gash.

Concern brews within and a network of lines fracture the remarkable disinterest he has been heralding- she has been through enough, he believes. Withdrawing his skull from the region of her succulent, sweet-scented breast (if indeed it had been allowed so near), he asks her firmly to “wait…” Then into the wrath of turbulent air (above heaven’s rage), he throws his face and calls out a vivid response to their lead, “…no! Please, hold up!” They will not linger long (some urgency has flanked this latest leg of their journey), and he slips off course quickly to hunt. Muzzle sinks swiftly as senses search through sparsely placed tussocks for something in particular; he finds the best quickly, nestled into the rotten bed of long dead timber and pushes it free with a determined fore. Beneath, the taste of rich, moist earth rises into flared nares like the scent of blaring spring blossom, and blunt, pearly teeth seize a handsome bite.

Quickly he turns back, falling to his battered charge after first pausing to offer reassurance (an optimistic venture given last time), followed by a gentle glance and kindly murmur, “it’s alright…” With a vast wing extending to offer shelter (icy droplets plunge from above and strike his shivering spine), lips - if given the opportunity, will work to seal the whole surface of her knee with a muddy, makeshift scab. If nothing else, the gesture will serve to ease ‘his’ mind alone. Already a towering presence, he draws back his head and moves further along so that his wing, now crooked, can perform as a generously sized umbrella over her head. “Come now,” he beckons, stepping forward carefully, with attentive gaze upon her summoning too, “you can rest again soon.”