The desert air smells of stone and trees and earth, and could it be any more obvious there is clearly something terribly wrong? Has the desert began to grow saplings? Tell me it's not growing into a forest, for the gods' sake. I'm not sure if I could handle it if the desert grew thick-trunked trees and leaves that outcasted the smiling golden sun. Yet then it becomes startlingly clear, and I shake my head, wag my silky muzzle, and hobble along, joints creaking, wings aching. Even the warmth has not alleviated the pain of my joints today!
Several long days have gone past since company, and I can tell this is company, of root and tree and mountain deep. They smell of earth, rich and moist, and of herd, a scent that is strong and whole-heartedly together, and it's a heady scent that carry. I estimate three at first, the arid dust distracting me, before I settle on two, which will surely be a good number. I take another deep inhale, this time looking around for emotions rather than numbers, for it would be a poor idea to go running into an angry couple.
Once that happened to me. Well, twice. An encounter with an angry bear and her two cubs, and Azel locking quarters with another mare, but there's certainly no need to get into that sort of mature subjects for anyone who may steal my memories. Who knows?! Considering I don't know where I live, it wouldn't be surprising if someone was reading my thoughts. Ah, I'm nattering again. Do you want to hear that story about the bear? She was quite a magnificent and terrifying beast, you know.
"Hello," I say, realizing the air has become much stronger with the unfamiliar odor.
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