 | As fate would have it, the filly was not meant to be alone long. Indeed no sooner had she rested her fluttery body against the tree a stranger emerged. Eldrinn did not hear his words, for her ivy eyes had immediately been drawn to the horn that spiralled from his forehead. What magic was this? What strangeness? He seemed to be a horse like herself (for she knew not of the wings that would one day sprout, turning her in to something much more than a simple horse) but what of that horn?
Eldrinn puzzled over this for some time, until the last of his words echoed through her mind and she giggled. “Silly creature,” she admonished, in a voice far beyond that which a child her age should claim. “I am not alone.” With a kick of her heels she brushed against the oak again, peering up at it’s branches with an expression that was nothing short of adoring.
“Ma and Pa would never leave me alone.” And this small creature, this tiny filly with a mastery of language far beyond her months of life, giggled again. She might have gone on, might have admonished him further, or perhaps introduced him to her dear parents, had their little meeting gone uninterrupted.
She turned again with a whirl, the childish squeal bringing light to her eyes. For though she may speak as an adult, and may possess herself with a grace unusual for those with such gangly legs, she was still very much a child. And as she turned from the tall stallion and faced instead a girl no bigger than herself, Eldrinn could think of nothing more than the fact that she had happened upon a playmate.
A playmate that was all too suddenly blocked by a much larger beast. With a crane of her neck the faerie girl peered up at him, again oblivious to his words as her eyes beheld a much more important and fascinating sight. For there, sprouting from his shoulders where should be only hair, were wings. Wings like those of the birds in the sky, and dear sweet Ely was rendered quite speechless.
You must go with them, little one.
The deep reverberation broke her concentration, tearing her gaze away from the fine feathers and instead to the pine and oak she had stepped away from. In a twirl and a kick she was back to the rough bark, pressed against it as if it were a lifeline, a tether to another, safer, less strange world. “I do not want to go,” she pleaded quietly, a whisper not meant for those who had gathered.
It is no time to argue dear heart, you will not be safe here.
And she knew, instinctively, that she could not argue. Yet fear stayed her hooves and wide eyes bounced from one form to another, uncertainty written in to every line of her petite form.
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