You stumble north after a curious night spent in the wilderness alone - well perhaps not entirely alone. Thought of the small, one-winged lad who spent many of those frightfully dark hours with you, lingers in the forefront of your mind; so too do both weight and warmth of the squirming pup beneath your wings (upon your back), ease the grave sense of isolation that prickles through your downy monochrome canvas. You have a few friends in this vast and ruthless world apparently, and that is plenty to comfort an infant’s raw heart. The pup, Hanna you both decided last night (one cannot live without a name), is restless and her fidgeting unbalances your walk. Acting as mount to another being is not something you are well accustomed to, especially one with so little strength of its own. Nevertheless - and despite the naturalness of your youthfully bumbling stride anyway - you bear your sister en route towards home.

To Hidden Falls…

Your mother did not come for you, or so you believe - she has not appeared, therefore she must not yet be searching. It does not cross your mind that you were sent to find the depths of a great deep forest and that it was to there she would likely gravitate. Neither have you realised the magnitude of the situation back home - though image of unfolding brutality still stains your young memory, you do not yet possess understanding enough to grasp what has happened. Your mother’s existence is as static as the cycle of day and night, and so is that of your father. They will come, you have untried faith and a soul as pure as fresh powder snow. Your eyes are wide with naivety and they sweep left and right as you stagger into the woody, southernmost tree line of the threshold forest. The slim stretch between the meadow and the mountain is an area you are fairly well acquainted with; you have explored it nearly seven times already.

“We are nearly there…” you whisper softly into the mild breeze - though it is more for your own peace of mind than for Hanna’s. You think the jagged cliffs and the waterfall descending them are hidden through the trees ahead, but without your mother to guide you, you realise the hugeness of the area - perhaps it is bigger still than Hidden Falls. Certainly it was more confusing. One ears swivels like a rogue satellite upon your poll and the thick sprout of mane beside folds beneath its movement. It is eerily quiet around you - the jovial trill of birdlife and the roar of crashing water fail to rise - and a small frown finds your mouth. With only the heedless pattern of an immature mind to draw from, you begin again to walk. The old shaggy pines tower above you like groaning giants, tired and impatient, and you quicken to a rambling trot, discomforted by their melancholic moan.

For more than an hour you wander between glades, tangling yourself deeper and deeper inside the old, tricky labyrinth; but your spirits remain brazenly high. Like a stone skipping across water you continue - you and Hanna will make it through. There is another roaming however, and ahead he catches your eye. He bears wings as you do (they hang down beside him); like your mother and your father. Bathed in cautiousness though, you pause, nose lifted high like you have seen your brave father do many times. There is small taste of another on the slow wind which greets your pumping nostrils and you smile brightly, excited that your venture paid off. He is not familiar, neither by sight, nor smell and your heart pounds apprehension through your tiny, listening ears. Do you think he will know?” you ask Hanna beneath your breath, though it is really fodder for a conversation between yourself, alone. ’Yes…’ you answer - even if your mother might have warned against the honesty of strangers.

“Zah-a!” you call eagerly, shrilly, gangly legs unfurling so quickly that you lose almost your balance and the helpless pup aboard. You fight the will of gravity well however, wings fixed tentatively across your spine and recover mid-stride; your tiny, fearless frame approaches the tall stallion at a canter. “Seen home?” you ask him quickly; you are young, and social finesse has not quite conquered the infantile abruptness you innocently portray. You are in a hurry regardless, it is imperative that you find your way back to the flank of your mother quickly - your stomach is growling painfully (it has been a night and half a day since you last suckled), and Hanna surely feels much the same.

The stranger does not move, does not even react as you dance into position before him, but you are difficult to deter - hunger sings through your veins. Glistening golden eyes do not waver from his pale, pink and freckled face.

Heartache stalks like a shadow behind you, creeping ever closer, snapping at your heels; though you are entirely oblivious as plumes of smoke tower above the ruins of your father’s kingdom, the paradise into which you were born. Peace is all you have ever known; love and safety, but all are no longer. Your family have been broken, crushed like the withered Orangemoon leaf. Deep below the frivolous crust of your infancy, your soul is pining and overwhelmed by sorrow, touched by a dream - or a nightmare - though it will be many years before you truly understand the harrow of loss. The pieces of the puzzle lay strewn throughout this world, fragments of you childhood, your life, stolen by self-righteous creatures - the bloodthirsty and cruellest of Helovia. The ache is small thus far, a puny seed- but it will grow to blossom, fed by your own conviction, fuelled by the echo of your father’s final words.

Your generous smile only broadens when his ink blue eyes find your face.

This stallion stands tall before your slim, immature frame, forcing your dimpled black chin to rise. The sun sinks from on high through the sparse, pine canopy, in visible golden shafts around you both - filled with wandering dust and mould that would otherwise exist beyond realisation. The forest this morning is beautiful, misleadingly tranquil; even the low breeze that stirs the pallid down-hair in your mane whispers not of the wrath to the east. His teeth part at last, but reveal only a sound, confusion - your fine ears flicker as you fight to find meaning from its midst, you want to understand. The forward pitch of his rounded, cream ears wilts suddenly and his nostrils rattle in unison. The simplicity of conversation remains still a mystery to you; a babe, still learning, you glance down to consider what next you should say. He speaks again though and relief sweeps through your core. Your fluttering eyes lift eagerly, and so does your posture; shoulders roll and hips straighten. You understand his question and don’t hesitate to answer…

“Ma!” you explain quickly, “Da!” They will be waiting for you - no, searching for you… Suddenly the error in this narrow-minded quest dawns and you turn entirely to gaze in the direction from which you and Hanna have come. “Deep Forest…!” is where you mother told you to hide. You never made it there though - could not remember the way - and your scattering thoughts recall Zero, who had chased away the darkness throughout your first night spent alone. Hanna wriggles restlessly, confused by the weight of your floundering mind - even if true clarity was far beyond either of your childish capacity. You have never wished so desperately for the closeness of your parents as you do in this moment, and your pleading eyes mellow with worry.

Hurriedly you swivel again to face him. Though you search eagerly, light-honey eyes dancing from the pallid whiskers of his chin to the distant glaze of his ocean-blue gaze, you find no trace of the smile you expect wholly to meet your own. Puzzled, but not entirely put off, the still smooth corners of your inky lips sink and you stiffen to stand like you might have if it were your mother instead, mid-lesson. While you study him curiously, you note the strange squint that momentarily shudders through his long pale lashes - you do not realise that his head throbs, nor that the sunlight illuminating the brilliant blue of his eyes causes his pain. True physical pain is something entirely unfamiliar to you - your parents have kept you well. You are not sure if he understands your answer either, he regards you with not much more than a vacant stare, and your bony body fidgets restlessly beneath it.

Eventually he moves, blinks and your puny black ears prick quickly and eagerly as you anticipate the long awaited response - the directions which would soon see you home safely. The morning grows late you realise as you glance briefly beyond his strapping, feathered shoulder and your neat hooves shuffle softly against the thick mat of fallen twigs needles. Slowly the stallion’s head sinks, and you creep expectantly closer - only one step and then another - slim, thin nostrils flutter keenly before sealing a long breath in your lungs. “Yes?” you almost whisper, but the thought is rapidly interrupted by an unexpected question - a blunt reminder that your mother expects you to be elsewhere. “No,” you tell him quickly, but only the breath trapped within slips by your lips… “Wait!” your thoughts cry prematurely.

But the stallion continues.

He asks another question - whether you need your Ma and Da - and you nod briskly in return, “yes!” The conversation streaming through your mind seems as structured as a flutter-fly’s flight path, and you tremble viciously as confusion grips your heart. You know you need to get home, your stomach aches and hunger thunders through your core, but this winged stranger is right, it is to the forest you must go. Your bright eyes wander back to his, but he is no longer looking at you. His attention has strayed past your position, and you turn into a tight, ungainly circle to discover what interest he has found. All that lays behind you is the wicked maze of timber that funnelled you here. A fathomless sigh rattles your nostrils. You start forward suddenly, long, lean legs striding clumsily through the thick litter carpet across the floor - behind the voice of the stallion rises and you trill, Ma… Forest!

You are indeed impulsive, a leaf on the wind in many ways. But impossible urgency has tightened around your immature mind and you can do little but obey its command. It never occurs to you that your tall friend might not follow - you sprint with all the swiftness each gangly limb can generate - there is just no time to lose. To your right you catch a glimpse of the blazing sun between the trees; in only a few hours it will have risen to its pinnacle in the clear blue sky above. “Ma…” you pant as your rambling, raw gait robs your lungs of breath, and you tighten your small wings against your back so that the Kits’ne won’t be lost along the way - “…‘sponsible for her…” you remind yourself quickly.