Mother had been well.

Seeing her face had been like a breath of fresh air following the longest night of my life. With the sun back in the sky, the earth filling the world with life, the moon painting the sky with stars, and time racing forward, the world moved. Now, I am scrambling about trying to pick up the pieces of the life I had before the veil of night fell. Mother had left the Foothills; Ophelia had gone missing. There is one anchor that I expected to find exactly where I left him, though.

Midas.
The painted black and white stallion my mother loved. I had no idea that their relationship faced implosion. I had no idea anything changed. I figured that once a child was made, the link would be eternal. My father and mother were exceptions, one immortal, after all. But, what is a family worth broken into pieces?

I flew south, my wings expanding with each day. The sun glints upon my back. The air grows dry, hot. I remember very clearly the way to the Dragon's Throat, though I had not come in so long. I feel bad having left Cera and Midas here without warning. They were likely worried about me, especially since mother probably told Midas of my journey. I have no intentions other than visiting the General of the Dragon's Throat today, but I am in for a surprise.

As I begin to lower myself toward the ground as the wall comes into view, I see the glint of ivory rising from among the sands. One ear cocks back uncertainly, and I glance at my harp which sings as the wind brushes past its strings. She looks familiar, I think to myself, but I am not yet close enough to understand why.

My bronze hooves settle upon the sandy ground with a splash. The grains fly in every direction, and they dance again at the closing of my wings. I am still growing, yet I knew I would far surpass Midas. Likely, he would not even recognize me past the colors painting my figure. I smile thinking about it, beginning to trot forward. As the wall gets closer, the ivory tower in the desert takes more shape. Pristine white, clean, a long flowing tail, and then I see it. The dipped tips of crimson on the bottom, the cloven hooves. Without a second thought, I raise my voice, a booming and masculine sound.

"Ophelia!"

Excitedly, I canter toward her side, noting that I have even surpassed her height. When would my legs stop growing? When I am the size of a small mountain? "Auntie," my lips say with a smile. Bright, bi-colored eyes gleam in the summer sun. "What are you doing here?"

ooc; I hope you don't mind me jumping in~

Ophelia had always looked like a sculpture of fresh fallen snow. Her face was lithe, delicate, as was her body, but carved so masterfully. Even when I was young, I was well aware that my aunt and mother were beautiful mares. However, looking toward the two colored eyes of my kin, I begin to realize the expression I once found thoughtful looked morose, sad, lonely. Moreso than ever, Ophelia's thin figure looked weak, like thin ice over a lake. As such, I reinforce my smile, feeling my lips tug upward and my eyes twinkle.

I return the soft touch of familial love, breathing against her skin, almost expecting it to fall away from the pressure of my breath. Had I grown too large now, that I thought my aunt weak? Is she truly delicate? I wonder.

"I am the one who left the Foothills first," I say with cordial tones. "You need not apologize." Then, pausing to look at the wall as she speaks of it, I think back to my childhood here. We had not had a wall, but maybe I am desensitized to its presence, having visited the desert many times prior since its erection. Her words speaking of war make my brows furrow, though. I hoped that no war had befallen Midas and Cera's home, but much of the past few seasons I had spent travelling. What could have happened? Just about anything.

"I'm afraid I don't know," I say, a bit distant, until another question was thrown at me.

Before I could answer, though, the appearance of another rattles through with a yell of Ophelia's name. I smile politely, stepping slightly away from the pale mare to get a better view of the pegasus stallion approaching. By the burly build, I assume that this man is a soldier of some sort. My hope lifts, knowing that as a solider he would likely have some idea of where Midas would be - after all, he is a General to my knowledge at this point. I wait for the adults to finish talking. I have to admit, though, I cannot keep a straight-face as the soldier calls me sir.

I am tall and filling in my muscle more with each day, but I hardly think I am old enough to be referred to so politely by a stallion, much less one who has no idea who my parents are. I manage to keep myself from giggling, but the dance of my lips would be entertaining were they paying attention. This is my nephew Hototo. I nod at my name, as if to prove her claim. We may look very different, yet somehow, there is still a definitive similarity between our structures.

I have never been able to pin that one down.

"I am looking for Midas," I say when there is a pause in conversation. "Is he home?"