Peace radiated from the trees. The shadows spoke of solitude – secrecy. I suspected it meant something different to most than it did to me; the occasional smell on the air, the noise of furtive movements in the green, did quicken my blood when I passed them by, but the more fleeting pleasures of life belonged to an era past. Leave the young to their youthful pursuits; I shook my head and moved on.

      Though it had drawn me to the Grove previously, curiosity had little influence on my second foray into the trees. The sensation of solitude (however false) pulled with far more strength. If I had grown reclusive in my old age, could I really be judged harshly for it? Things I had done to others – things done to me – wore heavy on my mind. And if the World’s Edge was a land for peace, what would they do to achieve their goal? What would become of them if harder creatures wearied of their pursuit? I was settled – however roughly – among their ranks, but was I a part of them? A lowly creature, stripped of dignity, never possessing grace… The Grove reminded me of a happier past, a history in which I had been welcome and respected (a history I tore apart).

      But the trees were not the trees of my old home, and my titles had ground to dust along with that place. Rangy and unkempt, I lurched abruptly from the shelter of the boughs, hooves sighing over the pond’s thin bank. My reflection confronted me, gaunt and uneven: staring. With a snort, I turned away. Movement drew my attention, somewhere ahead: another mare, this one winged. My ears pricked up. I had not been well acquainted with a pegasus in so long… The only such individual I might have considered well-known was lost years ago, a bright spirit disintegrating out of memory.

      Perhaps this mare was like that one. Perhaps not; I did not particularly care, in the moment. I had grown strong enough to weary of exploring and eating, and I wondered again about the nature of things unlike myself, such as things that flew. She stood poised near the water, light – elegant, perhaps, in the curve of one forelimb over the blue-glass. I did not wish to disturb, particularly – if she meant to bathe, I might learn if pegasi proved more buoyant than other creatures. And if she did not… well, I lingered in plain sight, if she only wished to turn around.

      Night slipped past us overhead: a blanket of stars glimmering high and cold, to my weary brain like the distant glow of funeral pyres from a world past. Beneath their joyless glitter rose the strange music of some distant animal, piercing and mournful. My ears twitched to the noise even as my attention weighed on the shape of the winged mare. I must admit some form of apprehension – or anticipation – in the tableau formed by her lifted forelimb. She seemed for a moment frozen, as if the two of us became – so briefly – creatures belonging to another time.

      The illusion shattered with her decision; my head lifted as she surged forward, but to such a little depth. I supposed the water must prove cold enough to deter prospective swimmers – much the pity. With stars dancing around her limbs, she turned to me at last. Her eyes were yellow – the color of sunrise. Or perhaps sunset; my gaze shifted, minutely to the darkness of the western horizon. Shadows had already risen up to engulf the sun; true darkness was upon us, dawn a long way off. An aversion to the gloom born of recent memory stirred anxious through my brain, but with irritation I swallowed it back. Between myself and the mare, no darker shadow stirred; nothing wicked breathed on the evening air.

      I greeted her expression with a nod, though confusion tickled my thoughts. Was she so lonely even the sight of my ruined figure brought her joy? A pity; she was lovely herself, sleek hide of a color with my own but solid, fringed only by the dark blue of delicate wings. She deserved better company.

      At last she spoke, breaking to pieces the brief, breathless silence around us. So nonchalant; I found a smile building in response to her voice. It was unexpected, to say the least – wit speaking to a higher intellect, perhaps? A mind unfettered by the rules of social conduct, tedious as they may become? I will admit I grew tired of introducing myself, as if a name and title explained any piece of me – no fair advantage, to be sure. Head tilted, I regarded her with the bluer of my eyes, tail flicking at my hocks. ”Oh? Do you prefer… discomfort, then?” I wondered. ”Or does this bank seem big enough for only one old man, and not yourself, as well?” I may have moved aside and made room, if she asked – but she did not, and I remained still, watching her. The tone of our meeting recalled that last pegasus I had known – though then I had fangs still, and the might of a king at my back. Sinn… I missed the youthful vigor of his mind. Kahlua was not the same. Helovia… was not the same.

      But perhaps the stranger was a pleasant distraction.

      There was something about her… almost coy. In answer my heart beat faster, blood running hot and lively under a ragged carpet of skin. The warmth was something like drunkenness, though lucid. I watched with interest the expressive contortions of her face – vivid and wondrous. That so lovely a thing might condescend to play with me I could only answer in bemusement, but I was hardly so virtuous a man as to refuse. I may not know her, but I wanted to.

      Stars, cold-burning, stirred around the graceful movement of her limbs, as if afraid to touch her – warned off by the elegant shade she had become, with darkness full upon us both. The rangy length of my neck unfurled, not in any misguided attempt to touch her – she stood too far off – but in a graceless admission of interest. A wiser creature may have turned to face me; my tail swept again, a tangled plume rustling in the dark. Good fortune for us both, perhaps, I was not younger and less disciplined. My head tilted, ears panning back to complement a mild smirk. It was that please -- I answered with a laugh low, guttural and rough.

      ”Would you have me freeze to death with you?” I answered even as I plunged forward, black-feathered limbs meeting waves of darkness and needles of cold. With interest, I ran a critical gaze across the half-furled structures of her wings – wondering, again, how capable such beings were of flight. I would ask, though not immediately – in the moment I preferred her on the ground. With languid strides I moved forward – perhaps not to draw even with her, but to draw near, hovering behind the wings, mindful of the warmth inherent to her skin. I enjoyed too much the possibility of the moment to ask anything more; I enjoyed too much the ease of forgetting my previous troubles. Mindful of her, I needed only think of her. She was better company than the dark.

      ”Though it may be called pleasant,” I observed after a moment; water lapped below my knees, tugging at the thin ribbons of hair. I cocked an eye at the stranger, though, noting with interest she stood well below my height – small but refined, larger for the brilliant color of her wings. Those I did wish to touch, and eyed with poorly hidden curiosity. Rather than look away at the sound of her voice, I merely tilted an ear. ”Who are you?” As if I piqued her interest, too.

      I breathed out, my features crimped with mirth, as she stammered to correct her tone – so polite. It was not the same grace as the others of the Edge – but something like a mask more easily revealed. ”Saphiron.” I did reach forward then, to brush the bluest feathers for a moment, gauge their softness – if she did not retreat. Withdrawing my neck, I turned to look at her. ”It suits you. My name is Ruske, though I’m afraid it tells you little about who I am.”