The heavenly fields had always been a favourite place of his. The mountains stretched right up to the sky, right to the base of the clouds where the air was cool and thin and the wind grew stronger. Here he could rest his wings while remaining close to the sky, up against the stars and the pale face of the moon when night finally fell. Dusk was hours away now, though the sunset was worth the wait and the grazing atop the hills was worth the arduous flight. He had met many friends here, and as loneliness had sunk in to the depths of his bones, he had decided to return to the fields.

However, today he seemed to be alone. The wind spoke softly through the tall grass, pulling at his feathers and coaxing him back to the air. He let the flowers bump softly against his scarred legs, still marked from his fight many months ago. Though his feathers had returned, he had spent many months on the ground and his wings had lost the strength they had once held. It was frustrating to have his endurance cut short due to weak muscles, but for now he was happy to walk in the sunlight and soak up the warmth.

It was not long before he noticed the grass swaying off to his right side, and he turned his head to see a small filly stumbling across the meadow. She seemed weak, both of body and of soul, as if her legs were unwilling to hold her weight. He watched her for a moment, concern growing in the pit of his chest as she wandered away from him. He wondered whether he should call out to her, or if it was best to leave her alone. His decision was made as she fell to the ground.

Without a second thought he rushed over to her, hesitating as he saw her sides heaving with each breath. Was she dying? He didn’t know what to do, how to handle this sudden predicament he was faced with. He dipped his head as he neared her, emerald eyes open wide with a curiosity he had not had the energy or the cause to display for months. She was an exquisite being, tiny and dark with golden dust showering across her body like stars. She looked ahead at the field, full of flowers awoken by the spring warmth, though she seemed no more alive. She was in pain, just like him, and he wanted to help, but what could he do? He glanced around, searching for another face, another creature to lend their aid, but for the time, they were alone.

“Excuse me,” his voice was soft, cautious, worried he would frighten her if she had not already heard his clumsy footsteps. “Are you alright? Do you need help?” He lowered himself to his knees, pale wings spreading out from his sides as his torso neared the dusty earth, steadying his body. They were on the same level now, which ought to make the filly feel more comfortable though it made Murdock feel a little ridiculous. His hind legs were splayed for balance as he bent down, gaze drifting over her tense figure and fragile wings. Please, Gods, let her be alright.

"Talking"

Murdock

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Feather’s mottled with all of the same bleak hues of her hoofed equivalent rippled and rustled as she swept upon the mountain pasture once again in parrot form. She lacked the grace and modesty which once she had flown with, this winged body was short, stout and not built to soar the high altitude channels of air once her haven. The pattern of her flight was buffered constantly by the mountain winds which swirled tauntingly between cloud shrouded peaks, and she swung precariously left and right as she went, as though she were merely a leaf at the mercy of a wicked spring squall. She persisted though, with dogged determination driving her heart, and peered with bright mustard-washed eyes down towards the field which opened through the rocky tors below.

She and Ampere had set a task before the herd- to patrol the regions of Helovia thoroughly, and report any findings (no matter how trivial) back to either head of government. Certainly Africa had been tardy herself in completing this, so she could not resent the lack of activity by those who dwelt by her side in Dragon’s Throat. Nevertheless, new motivation was streaming through blue blood veins, and she had set off early so that she would descend on the northern area some time before the scorching sun had risen to his throne in the vast blue arc of sky- that which seemed not all too far away from the field itself.

Her stocky avian body dropped well clear of the veiling mist and cloud. Seldom did she find the strength to lift into its eerie midst, though in bursts she had played recklessly through the flimsy rim. Down, down; clutching wings snug against the fluttering grey feathers along each flank, closing ground in hurried circles that ceased only by the point of a crop of rough granite piled together. There she took post, passing a pinning pupil upwards when the grim shadow of her companion passed swiftly, watchfully, across her perch. Already he had seen the waif collapsed in the grass; a stallion knelt by her side- his eyes were sharper than those of a raucous, rambunctious parrot, and he filled her mind with an urgent sort of caution that caused warm skin the tremble.

Quickly Africa’s eyes tightened together, seeling out all light and distraction as she internalised her focus and braced for the wretched pain to come. Bones began suddenly to grow, to fracture and reform; skin to stretch and burn, and feathers to shrivel and vanish as she morphed awkwardly into Pegasus form. Her mind howled in agony, and reclined ears throbbed to the beat of her pounding pulse. For a long moment she was deafened, blinded by the irony of her gift, her ability to fly.

Consciousness returned rapidly as the joints and sinew beneath the flinch of her drab coat began to settle. Her thoughts swam quickly to the vision given by the zephyr and she glanced to where he hovered dutifully above the duo. She thanked him wordlessly; love and appreciation spilling through each heart naturally, and began at once at a careful walk towards an eastern cliff-face hedged by long, lush meadow grass. The foal and her company lay not against the cold crude wall, but closer, propped upon knobbly knees helplessly against a plot of cold naked soil.

There was another crouched with her- an unfamiliar Pegasus that shared no qualities with the child. Perhaps then, she thought pausing suddenly with no wish to intrude, they were herd-mates rather than family. Though the body language shared blatantly between them seemed not to suggest either. Drawing a breath, confused with the scent of both others of her knid, Africa slipped forwards again... "Hello?" She called quietly; frighteningly aware of the tranquillity born from the solitude of the land. Africa wished not to startle the strangers, and approached with due caution, staggered steps and nostrils fluttering softly in greeting. "Are you both alright?" Even before the pair had been found, the dappled mare had scanned the near vicinity for trace of another, a mare, and it troubled her now that one so young and vulnerable had not a mother nearby.

Africa

Murdock's concern grew as the filly lay before him on the damp soil, unmoving except for gentle shudders of her body with each trembling breath. He looked over her again and again, growing more frantic to find a cause for her pain. Finally, her body tensed as she lifted her head, and he leaned back to give her room. She sniffed softly, but no words left her lips in response to his questions. It seemed for a moment as if she were deaf, perhaps unable to hear him, until at last her head dipped in a timid nod. He remained close to her, bent over awkwardly on his long legs so as to share her perspective of the world.

Another voice drew his attention and he turned toward the source of the sound. A pale grey mare approached them, her face friendly and her posture unthreatening. Perhaps she would know what to do. Perhaps she could offer some help and care that Murdock was still far too childlike himself to provide. "Hello," he called back, unfolding his long legs from beneath his chest and rising upright again. He nodded in response to her question, "Yes, I am fine, but," he trailed off as his gaze drifted back to the filly. Her small head nodded once more in agreement, though he doubted the integrity of her claim.

Suddenly, the filly scrambled back to her feet. She seemed bigger now that she stood beside him, her thin legs seeming awkwardly long for her slender body. Her wings were small, far too small to carry her weight and it would be quite some time before they would come of use for her. He remembered his frustration at that age, beating his small wings as hard as he could though they never managed to lift him off the ground. Soon enough, though, she would join the others of her kin in the sky. If nothing else, she had the joy of flight to look forward to.

While his mind was on that subject, he drew his attention back to the stranger who had joined them. She also carried wings, or, a wing. Murdock drew his gaze over the scarred, torn flesh where a wing had once been. A few feathers still clung to her flesh, though they were small and downy like thick fur. He could not imagine losing one or both of his wings along with his ability to fly. After October had attacked him, tearing the majority of his feathers out and leaving him grounded for months, he could not imagine what it would be like to permanently lose the privilege of flight.

Respectfully, he directed his attention away from the mare's shoulder and back to the filly, who had finally found her voice. "I am Murdock, former General of the Foothills," he looked to the newcomer next for her name, though he could already tell where she was from. The scent of sand clung to her coat and he immediately knew she could be regarded as a friend. Neither of the names Faeanne mentioned to them were familiar to him, though with the help of the other mare, surely they could get her home. "Can you tell us where your parents are from? Perhaps we can help you find them."

"Talking"

Murdock