Roaring beats of wings, powerful and especially loud at the crack of dawn woke her, nestled away in the embrace of brush and foliage that thought itself hardy enough to dare reside in the deserts. Frost dusted over the grasses and steam rose from her nostrils, hazy in how her thoughts had yet to figure out how they're supposed to make her feel about a rude awakening. Her journey to the island before hand was still haunted by the events at the party. She didn't want to go back because something was truly wrong, but no one was caring to notice. It'd have to be brought up while on patrol, seeing that her family won't claim her insane at the odd goings.
Shortly snorting before pulling herself upwards, clawed at by thorns that cause weak cringes to morph her face, whoever had left was already long gone. The silence came in abruptly and laid to rest like a tired and invisible entity over the region now beginning to ignite in the mystic shades of dawn. She shakes, spraying sand and sleep from her to each and every direction before collecting a short stride in her gallop to the island, haunted with the memory of that deer and the wolf, how the peace was ending and the signs were everywhere.
Maybe this time Sikeax would end up lucky and not fall prey to sickness and rise to be the living dead that she had no knowledge of ever being except through the words of friends and a stranger who cared to help.
The journey takes time regardless to any sort of pace it might be taken in. She strains as she pushes herself more, stopping when the river that passes through the meadow meets the ocean, wading through and stopping to rest at one point, sweat darkening her pale coat. Mentally, she prays for wings like her other family members, their ability to fly and move faster than she does because she's permanently grounded due to genetics. It finally comes across her mind that most of her friends are Pegasi, and in a group setting, she's the odd one out.
Eventually, she makes her trip, sighing in relief when the clouds gather below her tired and shaking legs, the thin outline of her rib cage more prominent in the frozen moons. She hesitates when the cloud takes her up, refusing to step upon the earth when some internal part called instinct says rest. Green grasses look sweet in their Birdsong-like state. Temptation takes over, gathering a mouthful when she finally steps on.
Further along her route, slowly moving along at a walk interrupted by stops to grass when she lacked time to eat breakfast, is a man who is a perfect sculpture resurrected to seem harmonized between the earth and the animals upon, who towers above her enough that she must crane her neck to look at his antlers. A distance of a few yards separates them, constantly fearful of someone she hasn't come to know. This is probably her patrol partner, remembering faintly of two names: Gaucho and Serenity.
She goes with Gaucho, seeing as Serenity wouldn't fit this man if they spray painted it on him.
"Gaucho?" It's not an easy name to say, one she thinks over before spilling it. She doesn't lack her time with her own, ready to get it out of the way and on with the program. "Sikeax, but Sia is easier." Spoken in monotone, fast and ready to get it over with, her young eyes watching intently in case the third muskerteer is late like she must be to the party and she's left with trying to discover not-so-awkward conversation.

@[Gaucho]

The still presence shared between her and Gaucho goes unnoticed, interrupted(not so much as in a rude way) by another Pegasus. She holds admiration for the mare, lost between the ticking of seconds to see the colours that she didn't flaunt, wearing them as her skin and treating them as so. Whenever she scolds herself mentally for even possibly staring, the returnal of her gaze is to how Gaucho bares a smile. A bone piercing through his nose grants the rather statue-like giant a smile, igniting sparks of amusement through her young facial features.
They are reassured that the other of the feminine class is indeed Serenity, the third musketeer to their trio. She makes for the chatty end of their group while Sikeax brings her lips even more taut. A new word flows into her pricked cups, swiveling forward to meet the oddity of a foreign language more thoroughly.
Tihat, to look. Almost instinctively, a medium sized head cranes about in what directions it chooses, following directions in case she really did need to 'tihat.'
Clearly, there would never come to be a point that she would come to accept all of the strange and unique attributes of her herd mates and family members, and those of the strangers met on escapes from the confines of home.
Loyally she follows, slow and steady in a gait that sways her body in a rhythmic motion. Her silence is plagued with her constant alertness, quickly turning her head away to look outwards into various directions at even the simplest of sounds. The safety brought in numbers offers her no relief from the party in which she searched for the Basin colt.

@[Serenity]