A P O L L O

And how can you say that your truth is better than ours?
Shoulder to shoulder, now brother, we carry no arms

The moon was high in the sky tonight, as it was every night since the terrible, eternal darkness fell upon their land. The heart of night had become the hight of day without the sun there to shine upon the land. The moon acted in the sun's stead, and Apollo could only hope that soon, soon, their world would be set right. Warm, honey-brown eyes lingered upon the pale sphere of the moon that hung in the sky, the pale rays cascading down upon his ebonite frame. An exhale left him, soft, barely noticeable but the whisps of mist that curled up from his nose.

"Return safely," he pleaded, but he knew his words would fall on deaf ears. Lowering his head from the heavens, the newly-named Chief of the Foothills regarded the area around him. He was standing in the fore-front of the Threshold, simply running a quick patrol to see if there were any lost, lingering souls that had wandered into their dark world. Now was not a good time to be lost and without a home, the stallion knew, and so he hoped to remedy that and help any who may be in need.

Turning, Apollo continued on his trek, head low and eyes prowling. Hooves clipped the occasional root or rock, but otherwise the stallion moved with a profficient silence that he had gained from the seasons of living in the Deep Forest. Now, however... Those talents were going a bit rusty, considering the Grey's home of the Foothills.

A glimpse of glowing white seemed to rip the Chief from his thoughts, however, and Apollo stopped short, head tilting upwards. His eyes lingered on the pale form that moved through the forest, a rather haggard looking creature who seemed exhausted. Concern morphed the stallion's face into a thin frown, his soulful eyes assessing this creature. A mare she was, and immediately Apollo stepped towards her, weaving through the tree-line until he stepped clear of the thick forests of the Threshold.

"Ma'am?" He asked, his eloquent accent thick in politeness, "Are you well, Ma'am?" This ivory mare smelled of nothing but the outside world, with no familiar scent of Helovia clinging to her to give away her allegiance. "Stay calm, you're safe here. I won't harm you." A boyish, charming smile danced upon the overo's features, his mane falling half hazardly in front of his gentle gaze, "My name is Apollo... May I ask yours, and why you're wandering the Threshold in such a dark time?"