The dove had spent the last several days plagued with nightmares. She woke from restless slumber with fire burned across her vision and screams echoing in her ears. Though she knew them to be dreams, she could never quite wake herself before the burning started; and the figures were never quite exact, but rather grossly exaggerated caricatures of her family and her friends and her herd. No matter how strange they looked, she always knew exactly who it was walking toward the smoke before the pile of leaves burst into sudden flame. Night after night, she watched them die in a blaze of flame, immobilized and incapable of saving them; and despite their odd appearances, she heard every scream more clearly than the last.

The angel grimaced as she strode purposefully across the desert sands. It was difficult terrain to traverse, it was true; but forcing herself to walk rather than fly all the time (as she would have preferred) had strengthened her body, something that she would need in order to become a decent fighter. It was odd, how her desires and beliefs had changed over time. She liked to think that she had evolved, emerged from a cocoon that had kept her safe while allowing her to blossom; she liked to believe that she was better now than she had been before.

The dreams, though, continued to plague her, and she couldn't quite grasp their meaning. Was there trouble coming to the Dragon's Throat? Was she going to be helpless to stop bad things from happening to those she loved? Was the Sun God angry with her, or with them? But surely, if that were the case, their Diviner would know, wouldn't he? And Cera would warn her, right? Of course he would, she told herself vehemently, but doubt still bloomed in the recesses of her mind.

A dark figure on the horizon encouraged her to set the matter aside and pick up speed. Her light built easily cantered across the sands, wings flaring every now and then for balance. As she grew closer, she saw a dark foal tinged with gold, and she frowned, for why was such a youngling alone? Sure, the child appeared to be old enough to be weaned from its mother, but even so - there were dangers lurking in the shadows of Helovia, and children should be securely by their mother's side (or, at least, protected by the numbers of a herd)!

"Hello, sweetling," she called as she entered an audible range. "My name is Sohalia. What's yours?" And she smiled, kindness in her eyes.

"talk talk talk"
@[Faeanne]

Live... I want to live on fire
Die... I want to burn out brighter
Brighter than the northern lights
Want to live to feel the daylight

The Sultana never stopped to wonder how her pet names affected those she called so kindly - it was simply the way she was. Something about her sudden leadership had forced her to mature, to grow into the matronly role that she had never before been able to play. She was calmer, kinder, more affectionate - even to those she did not know. Well-meaning names drifted from her lips with the ease of motherhood, for she had somehow assumed a parental role within her herd. Young or old, herd member or outcast, her treatment of most Helovians remained the same - and she called them all sweetling, or darling, or dear, or any number of other endearments.

And so she went on, blissfully unaware of the effect that she had on those with whom she spent her time.

Astraeus circled lazily overhead, a gentle trail of sparks flickering from his tail-feathers. He watched with little interest, for he knew that his bonded was one to adopt each and every newcomer, no matter their past or future plans. She looked for the best in everyone, a trait that was, perhaps, a blessing and a curse. -No mother?- he asked silently, trilling mournfully into the cool air through which he flew. She shrugged mentally, leaving her emotion to tell him that she didn't particularly care. All the more reason for the youngling to join their desert home, however temporary an arrangement it may be.

"Thank you, Faeanne," she smiled. "It means 'moon-glow' where I come from. And yours is quite lovely, as well - where does it come from?" Was her name Helovian? Was the youngling a trueborn native of their beautiful land, or was she an orphan from some horrendous past, stumbling blindly through a strange land of which she knew naught? She waited, allowing the filly time to answer and conclude the introductions, before adding, "How may I help you, Faeanne?"

"talk talk talk"
@[Faeanne]

Live... I want to live on fire
Die... I want to burn out brighter
Brighter than the northern lights
Want to live to feel the daylight