Golden with fate and glittering in the sunlight, sand pooled beneath their egg. Taking only a second in conforming its shape and create a bowl like structure of protection. A path of smooth granules led the way to more solid ground, voices rose with attention falling not into distraction; other mares around him quoted their outputs and ideas. One with the suggestion to form a makeshift wall, “Good idea,” he thought plainly.

Each hidden tendon along throatlatch grew rigid with exported effort; mind requested the pulsing sand to shift upward. Bending walls formed on either side of the pathway. Her ideal brought to life. With help from above, their talents merged as a group until all landed upon safer ground. Just the hints of a smile forged as his efforts proved useful and the egg bounced onto firm earth.

Softly grunting Midas withdrew his talents from settled spirit with gentle tugs, each smooth particle fell away and landed tenderly beside. A tiny golden desert surrounded ivory and the little Pegasus that now lay beside, she fashioned a creature from storm and voiced a need to keep the egg warm. “Well,” he thought, “Eggs belong in nests.” Avians often laced their nests with down and other soft, warm things to better protect unhatched younglings.

Smiling down at said child the general uttered, “I shall build it something for warmth.” Frame turned toward the heavenly field, things rested beneath the snow; warm things. Leaves, and soft thistle heads, twigs with velvet bark. He set out to find things like this, fashioning them together with reliance on teeth and slight help in magic. Once he gathered many soft things like moss and the outer layers of new spring shoots, Midas gathered them together and set toward the task of weaving.

Using magic only a little he steadily weaved the threads together, lining the bottom with moss and loose feathers from his own wings. Turning muzzle upon his own belly Midas plucked free some of his fur to help line the bottom and make the sides softer. As he weaved the fatherly man wondered if he could raise the nest somehow to keep the egg from freezing upon cold ground and rendering his nest useless. Another idea formed and he began to weave remaining twigs and sticks together, fashioning limbs and a wall like cover until he had built a cradle of sorts.

Grasping the top with a sturdy handle he had created for the purpose of carrying, Midas heaved his creation over to the egg and nudged it forward in offering. Sands pooled beneath him again, his magic would again easily lift the egg.