It was dark, and I was running. Spindly legs blurred beneath me, my tiny wings uselessly clamped to my side. It was a blind dash that I took, away from the noise and the screams. I could feel thorns and brambles biting into my side, ripping many little openings in my tender, youthful flesh. A light appeared before me, and with a childish terror I pushed myself faster, trusting that beyond the light, I would find my salvation...

I woke with a start, my bodice damp with sweat. The wind, frigid even as the arrival of Birdsong grew closer, nipped at me with a vengeance, and I found myself shivering. It had been many moons since I had had the running dream. I hadn't missed it a bit, reliving the night of my parents' deaths. It's only a dream, I try to tell myself, muttering uncomprehensibly under my breath. But it's a lie - it's a memory, a very vivid one that likes to visit me in the deep of night. I wish it were only a nightmare.

I am prone on the ground, still recovering from the terror that had rendered me frozen in place. But I know that if I don't get up, if I don't move, my body will begin to merge with the cold earth and snow beneath me. I must keep warm, particularly given that my pelt is, unfortunately, soaked through with my own fear. I lean up, and snow drips from my side, sending trickles of icy water in rivulets. Forelegs are planted before me, and I lunge to my hooves with a grunt of effort. I shake myself, flicking my wings about to dislodge the bits of ice that have stuck to them. I look around me. I am rather fond of these fields, finding their beauty unmatched even in the depths of Frostfall. I can't wait to return during Birdsong, when I am sure the field will become a beautiful, multicolored sea of flowers. I smile at the thought, recovering now from my nightmare.

What happened in my past is over now, and it is time for me to move on. I push aside the thought that my subconscious refuses to allow me to do so and instead allow my attention to be caught b the sounds of flapping wings and voices. It is unnecessary for me to launch myself into the air simply to investigate the source of the mixed noises, so I set out on foot. I am immediately intrigued by the gathering of Pegasi, and I don't immediately see the source of their interest. I pick up the pace, my hoofbeats crunching in the snow as I trot forward, auds pricked. I whinny a soft greeting as I approach, not having the desire to startle any of them, but I do not recognize anyone. Confusion colors my thoughts, but still I press on. Becoming a part of a group is difficult, but I suppose I will have to get used to it if I am to meet Rowan in the Dragon's Throat to join her herd.

I study the scene before me. An egg sits precariously on the egde of the cliff, seemingly abandoned save for those gathered around me. It is a scene filled with chaos to my newcomer's gaze: there are seven other Pegasi besides myself. Three stand, and four are in flight. One, a mare of my own coloring except with wings dark as night, nudges the egg; another mare attempts to guide it with a wing. I gasp. This is a horrible idea with, clearly, very little planning. Do they want the egg to plummet to an early demise? A violet-marked mare that I had arrived to stand beside speaks, seeming to voice my own opinion. "...it might be best," she was saying, "to all group together and discuss the best way to get this egg out of danger..." I remain silent, not trusting myself to speak, though I take note of a stallion not far from me who seems to be magicking the ground at his feet. Perhaps this would be a more efficient way to cradle the egg, rather than a mare's wing, which can so easy slip or shift. I find myself wishing for magic of my own that I may use to help the steed. But alas, I haven't a drop of it, and so I'll use my mind. Drawing a deep breath, I make my own thoughts heard.

"I second that motion," I say, "and might suggest a more stable balancing point. Good sir," I address the sand-shifter now, "might you be able to form a kind of wall to shield the egg from the edge, so that the kind lady nudging it along might not drop it?" It is unexplainable, really, that I feel the need to help this group of strangers. But something about the egg, so small and yet - I notice for the first time - remarkably large, for an egg, calls to me, and I find myself wanting to protect it, if not to claim it for my own. I am not a selfish fae, by any means, but I do have my desires every now and then, and the desire to save and hold onto this egg is a rather strong one. Odd, but then, the egg itself is odd, and special, and quite beautiful. I doubt I will be able to keep it, but it is a nice thought nonetheless.

[W/C | 921]