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

"Apollo!"

The shrill scream tore through the silence that had previously encompassed his home, knowing that the peacefulness was a stark contrast to the war that was surely being waged in the Edge. The dark stallion had been by himself as of late, fighting with himself by the contract made with the Basin. Archibald, Janus, Phaedra, and others had gone at the call of the northerners. The thought of the Pegasus mare, Phaedra, caused Apollo's lips to tighten into a thin line. He honestly didn't know what to think of her anymore.

Once he had been swayed by her charm and her beauty, her intelligence, her cunning. The way that her eyes shone with mirth and mischief whenever she laughed, smiling that special little smile reserved for only him... Now, however, things were different, and the thought of the earthy mare who had once held his heart brought him nothing but uncertain confusion, and dare he say it... A bit of bitterness. She had changed, and Apollo was uncertain if it was for the better. Where gentleness was once directed at him, sarcasm and coldness had taken it's place. She was a master of deception, he knew, but the words that she had spoken in the herd meeting could not fool him.

Still...

The scream had ripped him from his silent, troubled reverie, and the painted stallion's head snapped upwards at the sound. Ears were flicked forward, nostrils flaring and honeyed eyes wide with fear. Who...? For the briefest of moments Apollo thought that it had been Andreas who had screamed his name, and the idea of his sister being in pain, of suffering caused him to move into action. Immediately he ventured onwards, paced at a trot, but who he discovered collapsed along the borders of the Foothills took him by surprise.

Antheia, of the Edge.

Guilt once more plagued him, but worry danced alongside it. It didn't take someone with a considerable amount of healing knowledge to know that there was something terribly wrong with Antheia. With her sides dripping with sweat, heaving, and the fact that she was collapsed upon the hard ground, well... It was all a dead giveaway.

As he came upon her side, the Chief lowered his head to nudge gently upon her sweaty shoulder. Experienced eyes roamed over her soaked body, worry blossoming in the overo's chest. "Antheia?" He asked after a few tense moments, swallowing thickly, "Why have you come?" It was a terrible idea for her to have come to the Foothills. Didn't she understand that? Things were steadily growing throughout Helovia, Apollo knew, and althought he didn't understand the magnitude of just what was going on, well... There would be repurcussions, he knew.

"You must breathe, Antheia," Apollo instructed, hoping that he could do something to help. Without his magic there was truly little that Apollo could do to help the agonized mare. "Breathe and try and rest. You are ill; terribly ill... Can you tell me why you are here?"

[ooc: Due to the abruptness of this thread, I can't guarantee how fast my replies will be. Just a heads up!]