The demigoddess is in a good mood today - she whistles smartly as toothpick legs carry her through the vast prairie, dotted with thistles and flowers. Snow is beginning to recede, and although she has developed a bit of fondness for it, she wants to feel the sun-warmed grass beneath her hooves and breath air that is not razor-sharp and heavy with cold. In the distance, a bird sings, and the girl mimics his tune ardently; they sing a spring-song, with a simple, neat melody. Vermilion eyes glance toward the sky casually, watching the path of a single cumulus cloud as she advances forward through the meadow. Bountiful spring flowers populate the green grass in blues, yellows and whites; she can smell the fragrant perfume of lilacs and the sweetness of baby grass. With a content sigh, she bounds towards every flower in sight, plucking each one gently, until she has amassed a sizable bouquet. Suddenly, she feels joy rushing through her small body like fire and blood, and the girl races ahead, leaving a whirlwind of down feathers, winter fur and flower petals in her wake.

She runs through patches of clover and daffodils - through the shadows of great oak trees and the thorns of briars. She is free, and her heels come up with exuberance, wings spreading to steady her gyrating body. A gentle spring zephyr caresses her bright, pale form, rustling the flowers she carries and the fire-flowers in her hair.

The filly continues furiously on until she balks at the sight of a reclining white figure. Shaken, but curious, Israfel turns towards it, and leans her delicate face towards it, noticing the ample similarities between them. The unicorn - a mare, is not dead, for her sides rise and fall steadily, and warmth radiates off her clean grey coat and a pink muzzle, occupied with flowers, bows forward, red eyes bright with wonder. Who is this sleeping (she has decided, in a fit of youthful fantasy) princess, and why is she alone? She has half the mind to rouse this mare, but is too intrigued by the peace which rests on her face - so the demigoddess will wait steadfastly, like the brave warriors of Isilme her mother speaks of, sometimes.

Silently, the gold-blessed girl drifts away from the sleeping beauty and underneath the shade of a tall red oak, careful to not rouse her charge. The flowers begin to wilt in her mouth, and she places them tenderly on relatively flat rock she finds nearby, covered with a pelt of lichen.

Israfel Azardokht, daughter of the sun - and now, defender of sleeping princesses, waits bravely beneath the canopy of an oak for her princess to wake.


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