The ache of tension beneath his brow caused by the realisation of imprisonment, the revelation of impenetrable mountain walls and a heart stewing in a pungent broth of discontent, has by now all but been eliminated by the apparent endlessness of their aerial adventure across Helovia. Where his sleek, coat had grown dull beneath the bind of gravity’s chains, a pleasant sheen has returned to glisten in the day's fading sunlight; where ligaments grew slack and lazy along stilled arms built to soar, new vigour swells visibly with every turn and swing of his flight; where thoughts had soured and opinions therein had turned pessimistic and bitter, a thrilling vibe now rises to drown out the memories of old - this life, freedom with Nora, trumps the wearying monotony of the months prior.

Too long had been spent in that field of purple thistle (though its secrets had been fond); the feeling of being tethered, tied down at length, caused his heart to burn and his mind to rebel, and so consequently, he has forced their world once more into motion.

Below, a strange monochrome landscape unfolds, and it is so unlike the lush hills and swooping valleys they’ve traversed recently, that his notice is quickly enticed down from the heavenly currents and the inclination of rough, swirling thermals. The air feels warmer around him, but tastes foul as though the inner juice of a hundred more had all been unleashed at once! His nose screws involuntarily and the thin velvet rims of each nostril suck tightly together - without the clean, clear supply of oxygen to feed upon, his wings dip and a slow descent begins. It is a land-bridge he trails, to either side of which thrashes a sea of steaming, foaming water; a thicker substance (one that he cannot fathom at first), blue like the heart of a wildfire, pours down the sides in slow-moving channels - in fact, though he stares and studies, he can barely make out the progress at all.

Where the rocky link at last finishes, a queer hill bulges, the gaping mouth of which bleeds steadily still more of the gleaming cobalt. It is a volcano… his inner voice both questions and states, for he has heard many a legend regarding the furious heart of Manangatang; respectfully he shifts course, but alarm grips him when the voice of his dove thrills against the eerie quiet. “Noah!” Brawn works around the grind of skewed joints as he performs an awkward manoeuvre that brings her into view; it flings her hither and thither like a leaf, the wicked breath of this place, and apprehension buries the arched line of his brow.

A plan assembles in no time at all, and he throws a pattern of words into the open - that he prays might pull her free... ”Land Nora, come down! Fly down!”

Even as he moves to guide her (should his instruction be lost in translation, or even by the mischievous whisper of elements), he searches for a location that might see them land safely and securely. A thin stretch of onyx rock drives towards the very centre and an indiscernible litter of leaf and rubble perch upon the ledge visible at its end. Noah feels (uncomfortably), that it is their best option and draws the vast span of each feathered wing in nearer to his barrel; the plunge is more rapid than he’d hoped and it takes every inch of his strength to pull up the thunder of his ravenous hooves, as he tears heavily down the straight of that scrawny path. A small spray of gravel scatter beyond the land's edge and as he halts (upon that lofty rim), he witnesses their dive into a wild, tossing ocean below.

A heavy, hot sigh spews noisily across his tongue and he bumbles clumsily, preoccupied, across the queer mess (of old shrines, unbeknownst to him), to accomodate a similar route for his dove.

Noah

I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior