Dawn had arrived soundlessly, the sun appearing over the edge of the world without fanfare, without so much as even the toll of a bell to announce the beginning of a new day. Murdock always thought it strange, how night could slip away across the ocean and morning could take its place, all without celebration for the return of the light. He slipped silently through the trees, following the scent of the sea deeper into the herd land toward the cliffs. He liked to walk along the edge as the sun rose, looking out across the dark expanse of water as colours changed and reflections rippled and grew. He liked to be there on the edge of the world to say good morning to the sun, to appreciate its warmth as nights grew longer and the air became bitterly cold.
Birdsong echoed softly in the trees, filling the silence between his footsteps as he wound about trunks and ducked beneath dew-jewelled spider webs toward the sound of the sea. He had grown quite comfortable in the Edge’s lands by now, having learned his way about the territory and familiarized himself with the many wonders of this beautiful place. The meadow was a particular favourite of his, though, as it overlooked the ocean and was often cloaked in a thick and mysterious shroud of mist. It appeared as though he was not the only one to enjoy its view, however, as when he arrived at the edge of the forest, he could see a shadowed figure alone amidst the tall grass.
The beast stood there in the mist, still as a statue as if frozen in place. Perhaps he was some sort of strange tree, his legs thick trunks that had sprouted from the earth and twisted together to form some curious shape resembling a horse. Perhaps he was little but bark and wood, fibers knotted together and leaves draped across his weathered back like tattered wings. But life stirred within him.
Murdock watched the beast from the threshold of the forest, steam bursting from the creature’s great nose with each breath. He was tall and thick, built like an ancient oak that had spent hundreds of years being nurtured and fed by the rich soil until he had grown strong and wise. He was an imposing figure, centered in the meadow as if on display. But what statement was he there to make? What purpose did he serve? Murdock decided to ask him, stepping out into the open and wading through the mist toward the gargantuan figure.
Hello, tree, he considered saying, but held his tongue as he drew near. Perhaps the stallion did not wish to be reminded of his arboreous fate. Perhaps he only wanted to fit in. However, as he approached, he could see that this really was more flesh and bone than wood and bark. His coat was smooth and faintly dappled, not mottled and creased as the skin of an old spruce. His mane was not thick tangles of dark moss, but silky black hair draped over the muscular crest of his neck. His wings were another matter altogether. It was plain enough to see that they were feather and down, much like his own. What was curious, though, was the size of them. How could they possibly get him off the ground?
Murdock smiled amiably as he came to a halt several feet from the stallion, pale green eyes peering out from behind curled locks of dark hair. “Good morning,” he dipped his head in greeting, mist still swirling about his legs as if irritated at having been displaced. The rose and amber light of the sun lit the stranger’s face warmly, casting an appealing glow across his thoughtful features. He could see neither happiness nor hostility within the other’s eyes, but there was a sort of sadness that hung about him as the mist that lingered over the field. “What troubles you?” He asked brazenly, tilting his head as a curious child might. It was none of his business, of course, but Murdock had never been one to recognize social boundaries.
"talk talk talk talk "
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