When battle befell the Falls, Elecampane had been at a loss as to what to do. Would he stay, and defend a territory he had become a part of only weeks before? He had barely earned his rank. If he were noble, he would have fought valiantly despite that fact. However, he wasn’t. One couldn’t exactly accuse Ele of being a coward—he stood up for himself, and spoke his mind, that was for sure—but he was selfish.

The sable stallion’s eyes drifted towards the sky. Sunlight trickled down through the rocky gorge where he hiked. The jagged, grey stone underfoot made the brute’s hooves ache uncomfortably. Each callous step reverberated up Ele’s entire leg, into his shoulders and down his spine. His disheveled pelt shimmered with beads of sweat, and his lungs heaved with exhaustion. ‘Damn this trek,’ he thought, spirits muddied with uncertainty. He wondered how much longer he would have to endure this agony.

Back when he was living in the herd, he was told of the mysterious place at the end of the trail that carved through their mountains—a valley of sorts. The champagne stag had made the decision to leave once tensions were on the rise within the Falls, and gossip transitioned from talk of newborn foals to talk of war. He chose to head north, with the intention of eventually making it all the way up to the Aurora Basin. Back when he was fresh out of the Threshold, Ele had nearly chosen to join the Basin herd, rather than the Falls. Now, still swayed by the majestic fantasy of the borealis lights Solanine had planted in his brain, the brute treaded north. A grassy, succulent pit stop along the way was not an unwelcome idea . . . if he could find it.

Panting, the young male stopped to catch his breath. As he did so, his eyes traced the towering walls of chipped granite, and a sigh escaped his lips. The whole reason he had chosen to join the Hidden Falls herd was to become a mason. He wanted nothing more than to work and live a peaceful life tucked away in the mountains. . . however, it no longer looked as though that would be the case.

A few moments passed, but with a bored huff, Ele banished the uncomely vision of what his life might have been, and ventured on. It seemed like hours before he reached a curve in the trail that wound around a tower of rock before disappearing. An overcast had rolled as the day passed by, and now cast a pale, desaturated light over the peaks. There was a distinct chill in the air, especially at this altitude, as Orangemoon dug its talons into Helovia’s landscape in preparation for colder seasons to come.
Velvet ears flattened against the drake’s head, and he approached the turn with caution. Peaking around the bend, Ele’s jaw dropped, and a delighted gasp burst from his throat. He had made it!

Before him stretched a wide, open expanse of greenery, burnt and browned by the late summer sun, but nonetheless beautiful. Ele stepped into the open, elated. His heart sung with the breeze as it hummed by, nipping at the silver tassels of his mane and tail. As the initial thrill of the entry died down, the stallion’s eyes began to scan the clearing, and question nagged at the hairs on the base of his neck: was he alone up here?

The voice was deep, rhythmic, as though it were a natural force, like a waterfall or thunder. Though Ele’s eyes met the stranger’s before he parted his lips, it still managed to startle him. His gaze cut through the air—two celestite beads, colder and stronger in tone than the biting winds that wound around them. His mane draped in thick, white tresses across his neck, from his withers to his poll, where a great, gleaming horn protruded. His pelt was adorned with a wonderful splash of black appaloosa markings, though his build was too heavy to match the signature of the breed. He was certainly a rather magnificent sight, and the eerie calmness that hung from his words only provoked the sable stag’s intrigue. Ele took a few steps closer.

“Yeah, I suppose, if you don’t mind having your lungs ripped out on the way up” he said bluntly, followed by a cough, signifying that his body was still recovering from the hike. Still, a smile glimmered from behind his amber optics. Curiosity flooded every corner of his being. Already, the neurons were firing like crazy in his head! Decrypting another’s essence was a rather favorable way to pass the time, Ele found. It satisfied a deep craving in him to pursue exceptional experiences. Picking out the tiniest details in life was probably one of the safest ways to avoid boredom for one such as him. He had no great plans. He didn’t desire acknowledgement or status or a name that resided in the back of every young mare’s mind. On top of it, he was not a fighter.

Besides, this male was just so regal in his immediate demeanor, it would almost force the question upon any newcomer he met, Ele was sure of it: what could possibly be hidden away in the shadows of his soul? The stallion’s eyes settled on the two figures that rode atop the pale transient’s spine. Their blazing eyes and exotic adornment of feathers made for an alarming site. He was sure there was a story there as well, or if nowhere else.

He suddenly realized he’d been staring for a good long while however, and awkwardly looked away. His natural forwardness made him fairly terrible at concealing his fascination with others, and so it demonstrated itself in every fiber of his bulk. This caused a constant influx of negative social interactions, of course.

Sulking in his own embarrassment, the champagne brute flicked an ear, and spoke his next words without eye contact, “My name is Ele . . .”

The stranger didn’t seem interested in Ele’s inelegance. His mistake went unnoticed . . . or, at least, uncared for, much to the young stallion’s relief. Mauja’s eyes were fixed on him, yet his lack of heart hinted that he was swallowed by his own world, and his words drifted out seemingly despite his thoughts.

Ele tilted his head. He was grateful for the dappled drake’s own absorption rescuing him from awkwardness, and his intrigue grew even greater than before. This one would require a bit more digging than usual. The enchanting mirage Mauja wore on the surface could certainly rebuff the initial instinct to ask. It also surely worked in his benefit. He could play the role of strength and boldness and grace he projected without the suspicion of others gnawing at his open sores. It was incredibly effective.

Of course, it was a part of the practice to accept the possibility of nothing being the answer to Ele’s question. He wasn’t always right to assume there was more to a person—some really were void beneath it all. Ele hated nothing. It belonged to such empty, lonely people; yet those who were generally the most socially attractive—neither an aspect Ele exactly resonated with. It was an admirable trait to the average eye, though: someone with no contrition, no remorse or guilt, and no demons trying to claw their way back up from the weathered pits of their past. What a fantastic existence.

Still, Ele didn’t like to bank on the likelihood of nothing. In truth, it was so rare, because of the deep-rooted fact that almost everyone encounters misfortune at some point in their lives, and it takes hold of you, whether or not you have the ability to pave over it with positive experiences or not. It manages to slink into the cracks of your soul, sometimes appearing in the eyes of a stranger; sometimes taking the form of something good or familiar: a song, a gift, a loved one, a home. It was all a part of the universe’s game. At times, it seemed as though the cosmos pointed the question at the individual directly, as if to ask, ‘what can we do to trigger their deepest struggles this time?’ The individual’s emotional reaction was both the error and absolute artistry of consciousness.

‘So, what was, or is his affliction, I wonder?’ the stallion blinked, lost once again in his imaginings. He had no intention of rescuing anyone when he asked himself these questions. He didn't want to play therapist. He just wanted to know; to understand the conditions of being conscious, and with that knowledge construct a model of purpose for his life. Selfish.

Taking a moment to refocus on the conversation, Ele thought about what the brute said. It was a beautiful question. He was amazingly smooth, gracefully keeping the dialogue away from himself, and still managing to provoke a conversation that possessed depth. Ele raised a brow, impressed, but played it off as though it were a reaction to the splendid scenery, glancing around as he did so. “Isn’t every journey?” he responded, tone laced with thrill. This little adventure was proving to be a fabulous decision.