Rare is the snow that falls in a desert. Even in a land encased by snow, the Dragon's Throat stands resilient against Father Winter, the pride jewel in the crown of the Sun God. I have only grown accustomed to the lack of precipitation, the low humidity, and the heats of midday summer. I am used to barren homes, having claimed a throne once before in the crimson towers of Isilme, fallen and overgrown now, if they even still existed. My apocalypse for my home was not as severe as the one Onni whispers of during the night, when she seeks my side like a filly not yet weaned. I wonder what can take a brave heart away from the valiant chest, but I feel I may be better off not knowing. I know one thing - that I am proud of my daughter.

As of now, my dark eyes fall upon the crimson sands of my home, flying over the crystalline white blanket that touches most of all Helovia. I am returning home after scouting for my missing members, coming up empty handed. My loose borders likely are responsible for the vacancies I find, for I have never been one to trap my family behind iron bars; if anything, I gave them a shove from my side. Still, it is rare for a warrior of mine to have gone missing. Note has long been absent, even leaving behind a lover and children. Another set of newer faces, Africa and Sinhue, are also gone. I am quick to jump to conclusions that the Basin has been up to their schemes once more, but that has yet to be made clear.

If I do find that my family has once again fell in their clutches, Psyche will not be let off as easily as before. My loss against her will not marr my confidence but fuel my passions more. Maybe this makes me foolish, but certainly my defeat against Adalwulf never stopped my will. That bitch will heed my words, or she will choke on them.

Still, my empty-handed search has left me weary, and I suck in air rather downcast, eyes scanning my home for the family I have claimed in my heart. I would be lying if I said that leadership was not slowly wearing down my spirit, but I have always been resilient, much like the home I was coming back to. Below, another resilient soul, though I was uncertain how much of it still remained. Upon his return, Valentine had been disoriented and lost. Now, he seemed more cognizant, but I am still worried for his well being.

Taking long circles below, it is not until I am close to the red sand that I notice the small figure of a filly and adoring crimson eyes upon her. My hooves touch down with a plume of chilled dirt, my wings folding to my sides immediately as I trot toward the side of my herdmate and newest Artisan. "Valentine," I say, my voice calm yet tired. "Well met."