The only thing about her father being away on a quest which was turning out to be not so bad was her newfound freedom to wander at her leisure. Though her adventures were somber and more silent than usual, the filly having little heart to sing with her usual bravado, it did do much to pass the hours, and keep her from worrying, or growing sorrowful. Besides, having spent most of her life so far in the Edge, there was much of Helovia she had not seen, and the girl could not help but feel slightly proud that she would have stories of her own to tell her father, when he came home.
Certainly less wary in her travels than she should be, the child has gone further from the Edge than she ever has without much preparedness but for her cloak and herbs, and has kept wandering after the fall of the Sun (though she had stopped to watch in awe, to breathlessly stare in wonder at how very different it was here, than it was at home). The naïve youth should perhaps already have found a safe place to bed down for the night, but the full figure of the Moon, and the silver illumination which flooded forth from her round bosom and spilled across the realm, highlighting each narrow footpath and snagging root, have kept her wandering.
Her eyes are trained on the stars, glimpsed through the last leaves of the autumn, mostly brown, but some lingeringly red, all seemingly somewhat purple or merely black in the night and the Moon’s glow, at least until the song of a brook lures her gaze back down. Her wandering speed, which had been but an aimless meander, suddenly gains purpose, her pearl laden antlers rising with the upwards lift of her chin, her ears curiously pricked forth, as she harries down the path which seems most likely to lead her to the source of the sound.
Maude comes upon the Rotunda and gasps in wonder, unaware of Astarot’s presence in her utter enthrallment at the sight of the ancient structure. The billowing silks and the whisper of the brook, dappled with the silver light cast from above, which wraps about it fill her soul with their beauty, and nearly inspire tears to bloom in the corners of her eyes. Breathlessly she dances towards the shallow waters, bending her crown to drink from its cold, perfect waters.
It’s only as she drinks, and gazes at the moonlight piercing through the tapestry of color that covers the Rotunda, that she notices the stallion standing within, he himself marked by the myriad panes across champagne flesh. She is suddenly ashamed, for having not noticed him, and for having been so clearly enamored with the natural beauty of this place; clearly one who has never seen it before, while he appears perfectly at home, perhaps even sleeping (well, until she’d blundered in, of course). Lifting her head with a flustered hurriedness, she steps back several paces, and hurriedly explains her presence.
"Oh, gosh, I’m sorry," she smiles apologetically, intending to leave (to let him continue to sleep, of course) if he does not stop her, "I didn’t see you there. How rude of me, to interrupt your rest."
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