Roland was not a fan of heights. During his recent visit to the Edge he had shrank away from the sight of steep cliffs and precarious precipices, and the large voids of empty space between the earth and the savage waves below. He could never seem to shake the feeling that the slightest of breezes could send him toppling over the edge, were he to stand too close. In retrospect, he didn’t know what had possessed him to venture onto this island.

The air was thin, and held a slight chill to it at such an altitude. Before the Thief rose a tall mountain, its rocky spire twisting up towards the heavens and reaching through the clouds that wound around its peak. A rapidly growing congregation stood at its roots, and as Roland approached them he sought out the owner of the voice calling out across the gathering. It appeared this floating island had grown quite popular, while the stallion had remained ignorant to its presence until that morning. As his gaze fell upon the reptilian speaker, he frowned in undisguised bemusement. A talking turtle? Clearly there was strange magic transpiring, and the last time he had taken part in such antics Roland had earned a scar for his troubles.

But there was no hint of ill intent to be found in the announcer’s words, and as he drew closer to the box painted upon the ground Roland was struck by a sudden bout of confidence and curiousity at what was about to ensue, a thirst for adventure previously displaced amidst his cowardice and skepticism. The Thief watched in something akin to horror as the ground rose abruptly towards him, and before he knew it he was no longer the tall, sleek, golden creature he knew himself to be, but a red furred, spindly legged goat. Before he could help himself, he was struck by a sudden stab of self consciousness.

Roland prayed that he had not turned into a shaggy, unkempt creature like some of the others he spotted around him. Rather, with any luck, he was the sleek, sports car edition. That, he could handle. Unfortunately there wasn’t much time to contemplate appearances before he was surging forwards at the turtle’s call, in part hoping to participate in whatever game was afoot, and also hoping he might escape recognition from the other goats around him, if he moved quickly. There was no reflection with which he could check his appearance, but he would likely die of humiliation if he sported the ragged beard and wayward teeth he had seen on some of the unsightly creatures in the past.

Leaping upon the footholds of the mountain, he began to climb through the throng of others, aiming for the initial target whilst attempting to dodge the torrent of magic thrown this way and that, risking his neck amidst shot and shell as he found his way towards and through the first ring with his tail wagging in newfound excitement. Turned out this goat thing wasn’t half bad.

(Roland is a Kalahari Red Goat!)