Relief was on approach—each breath, each heartbeat; proved evermore that his lord was once again working powerful healing magic. Magic, that would warm the land in a caressing embrace of sweet smells and promising days. He awoke on a high place in Helovia, body lay across its side under the protection of a frostbitten cherry blossom. Empty branches offered to be a meager elemental shield at best—but he was thankful for it.

Sensitive senses flinched, ears swiveled when drums of wing beats sparked knowledge; it was ruckus that had taken this weary traveler from his afternoon slumber, and it was that same disturbance that made him curiously blink and twist skull with hopes of finding a source.

It seemed a gathering had commenced. Winged sisters and brothers were gathering along a corner of the meadow. Why? He mused. Brows furrowed together, continued wonderment forcing him to stand and shake away the dirt and snow he had slept upon.

No bother was given to prep his wings for such short distance, instead—Midas choose to close the gap by briskly trotting over; each step caused his weighed collar to bang against chest with familiar taps. A throaty nicker sprang from throat, politely announcing his presence when close enough to be heard.

Five had gathered. Two where decked in unfamiliar patterns and fragrances he couldn’t recognize; loners, intellect supplied without reserve. Two others happened to be of his clan, a young daughter of his revered mentor and a citizen he had seen only in passing patrols. Golden steps paused when soil softened and ground threatened to expose his bulk to what lay unseen. At first the general was distracted by the gathering company, he didn’t take notice to what they seemed to be fussing over for a matter of seconds. Gaze trailed up to an ivory colored mistress; recognizing her as a Foothill by taste alone.

She and the others seemed to be circling and nudging. Something. Neck stretched outward to permit him a better look, Midas peered intently at what they nosed. Orbs widened when realization of unspoken answer followed. An egg. Intrigued by the situation, he gave the fragile creature a once over.

Its smooth texture and creamy color looked natural enough; though its size was way beyond mortal avian. He had often heard of mythical eggs during days filled with youthful stories his dam would tell to pass the time. Considering the gathering of Pegasus, this apparently wasn’t the everyday goose egg that one could find in passing a brook.

It also seemed they had a reason for swooning over the creature, fortune had granted an unborn soul no luck it seemed. Siblings and parents had flown away and abandoned the unhatched child as a littering runt. To make matters direr the egg happened to be nested on an unstable section of earth, no creature could place hoof or paw upon said soil without risking a tumbling. After quietly observing a moment he decided to also pitch in, but in a different way.

Instead of using inborn advantage to reach the egg through flight as the others did he remained fixed upon the ground; strings of earth magic rested in his bowels—each thread just waiting for permission to be used. He summoned it now.

Tugging at earth behind him, each battered granule came to life and glided from stable ground to pool at his feet and slither along his lightly colored ankles. Midas knew if he could get enough sand under control, he might be able to levitate it as a bulk, and slowly slide it under said egg; like a conveyer belt his talent could make the task of rolling easier on those that trailed above.