In the shade of the mountains and hills, the grass still crunched below small hooves; while the sun longed for it's return, the moon drifted slowly, greedily, through the clear sky, casting a pale light as far as it could reach. The night consisted of lonely thoughts and plenty of shivering, but soon enough the malnourished woman found her way into sleep. She dreamed of ghostly characters who said nothing and played with her hair, leaving her tail long and smooth and relieving her of the small nicks and cuts along her torso. The Appaloosa woman who had filled her with life upon her arrival to the Falls appeared in the dream numerous times, her green eyes unfocused and drowsy.

      Once morning broke, song birds sat in the trees, whistling their songs to the rising sun as the earth slowly grew warmer. The fragile woman woke with her back against a rough-barked pine, her body wrapped up in a tight ball. Dry eyes blinked against the cold air and small ears rotated as she caught her first sounds of the morning: the sweet voices of small, colorful birds. Slowly the doll wakes up, her body quivering against the occasional droplet of melting snow. Frosted eyes peer around before the mare slowly finds her feet; her joints ache and bones creak while she stands.

      With a groggy head, the brutt sets off toward the nearest source of water, hopeful to hear the rush of water as it stirs the wide pools below. Her blue-fringed tail (still tangled and slightly curled by the damp air) arched behind her like a small flag catching air off of a broken post. Her normally brisk walk is hindered by a slight limp on her left fore, making the doll take in a sharp, short breath with every step; her eyes narrow at the shooting pain that begins in her knee and finds itself spread out in a dull throb in her frog. Time passes slowly while she moves toward the pond, fuzzy ears tipped back while the blue gem sways back and forth, out of her vision.

      Along the edge of the pond is a small mare who is brought to life by fire. Still completely foreign to all of the magic held in Helovia, the startled mare's eyes grow wide and her journey comes to a stop. "Uhhh- ma'am!" her small voice shivered in the morning air, still creating a cloud of heat as it opened into the air. Naturally, the uneducated female lifts her dished head up, moving just a little too fast for her still sleepy body and becoming slightly dizzy. Her tail -still arched- twitched uncomfortably, unsure of what to do while the stranger seems completely content with her water while she burns alive.

"Speech"
Hope you don't mind! <3

      The flames danced wildly as the stranger reacted to the young brutt's distressed call, her body twisting and legs churning, causing the ice to creak along the edge of the solidified pool. "What is it?!" the dappled woman asked, her voice full of fear and eyes wide in response. Baffled, Adelis' brows furrowed and her jaw hung slack, tongue trying to find the correct words as she watched the stranger. "Y-your hair?" she stammered, bright eyes unable to stay on one single flame, but instead flickering from head to back-end. "It's on fire?" The statement failed, the words quivering in her throat and finding themselves forming a question rather than a warning.

      It wasn't until now that Addie's gentle eyes fell on the woman's bare shoulder; a long, puckered scar lined her shoulder, the flames allowing small shadows to flit around the tissue. The young girl wanted to touch the tear, to feel it with her soft and unsure lips. Small ears both flip forward one by one, the inside edges nearly touching the rough bases of her narrow antlers. She wondered where the scar came from, and how one could lose an entire wing and press on in their lives. "It is disturbing to see a mare or stallion with no wings, forced to the ground. Almost...cruel." The malnourished woman can hear the gruff words of the gold-speckled Bucephalus in her mind as she stares quietly. Her admiration for flight made her heart throb hard for this woman of fire.

      Insecure and embarrassed to have been staring, the ghostly girl tucks her dished face back toward her narrow chest, her eyes dropping from the Andalusian's body and back onto the still, trapped water. Even against the glass-like pond the child-like woman can see the fires continuing to reach toward the sky, and finally, it dawns on her that maybe the woman wants them there. Curious eyes rise back to examine the orange glow that illuminates Africa's body.

"Speech"
Sorry for the wait for something barely reaching the word limit. ;-;