The stallion is the first to speak of our miniature leaders, his voice crisp and polite on the crisp air of the late winter. His bird is splendid upon his shoulder, not small or meager as my earth creature which pants along side me with her pink tongue lolling out of her razor lined mouth, and while I hear his words, it is the burning flame on the spine of the man which I watch with full attention. She is beautiful, and worthy of our breeding; the dog alongside me is only a dog.

While she loves me, of this I can be sure, for I feel it in my bones whenever she looks upon me, I am not filled with such an emotion when I gaze upon her. Surely, I wish her to be safe; if not, I would have killed her myself. But there is no undying love that I am supposed to feel, according to my studies, at least not yet. Perhaps, in time, it will come to me, or perhaps my heart is too corrupted to truly know such an emotion.

After all, I covet my sisters dearly, but I would not die for a one of them. Their life is not worth a fraction of my own, not a one but perhaps my most beloved star sibling, and even she would burn before I set my own body aflame.

He rambles on about the God of the Earth, a simple God which provides us the mundus to wander and the life propelling the thrusts of our hearts. I do not know this God of mountain and sea, not as I know my mother of shadow and cloud, and the way the male talks of him does not flavor my pallet any more towards him than it already was. Still, the might of the stone molder can be seen all about us with a quick toss of a pupiless eye, and I will honor him if for no other reason than that he has provided the earth for us to glide above and gaze down on in wonder.

He promotes the mare known as Circuta, the one who is to help me find my sisters, and my heart salutes her while my eyes only wander in her direction and a polite dip of a charcoal toned muzzle is cast her way. There are many more voices which follow suit, some belonging to the shadow dame and another to her red toned, earthly companion, the others calls of belonging or calls of having been lost and seeking redemption.

I have no words still, only listen half heartedly as Skylos chews on the tuft of my tail.