Now that father is gone, I like to think I am something of mother's protector. With Cirrus so unusually - though understandably - distant, I can feel that obligation to the mare who birthed me grow even stronger. I can see the way my mother mourns him through every facet of her being. I can see the way her sorrow permeates every inch of her loving face. Even when a smile illuminates her features, I can see the sadness swimming in her eyes to sully the happiness. I wish there was something I could do to chase that sorrow away, but I fear though try I might, it will dog her still.

I try my best to shun all traces of gloom. I feel as though it is my job to remain strong while mother and sister are so laden in bereavement. I too miss my father greatly and long for his presence, but not quite so intensely as they do, and for different reasons. I almost feel guilty for this, and for the fact that I will never get to know him quite as closely as other fillies get to know their sires. For that, I am truly remorseful.

I have not seen my mother in some time. Although I suspect she is going through something similar to Cirrus, seeking out solitude as she mourns my father, I have begun to worry. Even Cirrus is not entirely truant from my life, for I see her every now and then with Sitka. I feel vaguely jealous of the hound, though not in a spiteful way. I miss my sister. Sitka seems to cheer her up so effortlessly, something I have found rather difficult as of late, though I do not blame her for her aloofness.

Suddenly a shadow streaks across the russet ground before me as I stride forward, and I lift my topaz eyes to the similarly colored sky. There soars a piebald body amongst distant, gauzy clouds, and I feel an intense urge to join him. "Midas!" I call, velveteen muzzle tipped to the sky, the juvenility that once so-thickly coated my voice now nearly gone entirely. I move with a calm sort of grace as I canter forward, my wings extended out from the slopes of my body. I curl my forelegs as I leap upward, allowing the wind to propel my gangly form higher and higher, the air gently preening my feathers as I come to join our General. I arrive at his side, though just behind him as not to invade the flapping space of his wings.

"Hope you don't mind the company." I say with a smile. Flying always lifts my spirits. "Are you looking for someone?"

I come to realize just how quickly I have grown in the past few months. Where Midas once towered over me by a good two feet, I have now nearly caught up to him. Of course he is much more filled out than I, my form still retaining some of its childish ungainliness. I have always been built a bit more like a colt than a filly, lacking the smoothness and frail prettiness that most others my age possess, but I care little. My wingspan, I notice, is already broader than his own - I have my father's genetics (and my mother's, too) to thank for that.

I peer toward him after a moment of silence. "Have you seen my mother?" I ask. Concern is clearly evident in my voice, and I wonder if he too has noticed her absence