"Where brilliance is good and madness is better..."
Helovia Info
Helovia opened in February 2012! We are an active fantasy equine RPG
Where once the world narrowed into naught but gray dust and desolation, the gods called for life. Wielding the elements of fire and light, dark and wind, earth and water, spark and time, they have created Helovia. The realm is set within the mythical globe of Loorien, a planet rich with all variety of creatures and blessed with all manner of magic. Originally populated by nomadic, tribal characters, they've since grown into massive empires saturated with culture and history. Separated into four distinct segments of Helovia, called "The Regions," each band of horse strong enough and capable enough, took up the power and responsibility of leadership. Unicorns, old, wise and mysterious, took to the north, hidden in forests of mists and shadows and rarely making themselves known beyond their cliffs of the World's Edge. Equines, vast, organized and militaristic, split into two, one group went north to the Windtossed Foothills and the other group went south to the Dragon's Throat. Pegasus remained nomadic, making their homes in various parts of The Wilds in a migratory manner. For many generations, the land was peaceful and calm, but peace was never the way of the gods. With a clash of argument, war and bloodshed massacred Helovia, and in the aftermath, the realm was eerily quiet. Now, as newcomers sweep into this land, they are met with the lingering bitterness of the gods and the struggle to reclaim what was lost. Nothing remains safe or certain while sorcerers and soldiers alike brood and bide their time for revenge, honor and glory.
Site Wide Plots
Kaos :: The Beginning of the End ☼ - 6/2017 - Kaos placed Helovia in a time-bubble for a short period of time, but the Helovian gods are fighting back. But Kaos is powerful- far more powerful than anyone thought. This may be the beginning of the end of Helovia as we know it.
Kisamoa :: A New Kind of Kaos ☼ - 3/2017 - Kisamoa asks Helovians to help him restore the Spectral Marsh. Which side will you choose?
Invasions :: All Out War ☼ - 5/2/16 - New layout and the brand new invasion rules are up! Thank you for your patience and we look forward to getting started with this new adventure.
The Rift :: Gods Do Die ☼ - 8/2015 - Helovia Gods are saving the Rift from corrupt gods! Can Helovians band together against these foreign deities?
The Literal Ship ☼ - 2/8/15 - Oh no! You have to pair up for Valentine's day!
Sky Island :: Murder ☼ - 10/25/14 - Vesta has been found dead on the island, and the gods have called to you to solve the murder!
Sky Island :: Peace ☼ - 7/7/14 - An island has appeared in the sky! Clouds carry Helovians from the Veins to the sky.
Restoration :: We Welcome the Dawn ☼ - 9/21/13 - The sun has finally risen on this day, giving the land new light, but the Time God and the Sun God have yet to be seen.
Endless Night :: Broken Magic Plot ☼ - 8/30/13 - The earth god has returned and is walking across Helovia to heal the land. Every area can now be considered lush and prosperous, but the sun has still not risen.
☼ - 7/19/13 - The moon has risen in the sky, heralding the return of the Goddess of the moon. Lamp trees which light the paths have grown brighter, moon flowers which grow in dark places have begun to grow and prosper and the world is brighter, filled with a new hope.
Endless Night :: Dead Magic Plot ☼ - 6/22/13 - The gods of Helovia, in order to protect the world, have disappeared into the rift, leaving the world sunless, moonless and magic-less in their absence. Only the herdlands have a source of light, but lamp-trees with glowing leaves and branches sporadically line the popular roads and paths from place to place.
Doppleganger Plot ☼ - 6/20/13 - The God of Time is still struggling to close the rift though which the dopplegangers have come. He has requested that his brothers and sister assist in closing this hole, but without knowing why it opened, the task is proving difficult. Magic still remains faulty and hard to control, but the herdlands continue to be places of refuge for those who are fortunate enough to call these lands home.
ORANGEMOON cools off the lands with a a viscious force. Colder than normal, a sign of things to come during Frostfall, Helovia is bathed in a rich tropical lushness - albiet a cold one. The coastlines of the Dragon's Throat are pelted constantly by tidal waves, and the desert climate is humid but chilly. Ice begins to form early in the Aurora Basin leaving the winding trails slick and dangerous. The mists of the World's Edge coat everything in a glistening crystalline shine which encourages mould to grow everywhere. The Spectral Marsh is the only area which remains fertile, blissfully temperature and lush.
Cotm
Character of the Month for
June, 2017
WEAVER, Corporal of the Aurora Basin, is a relatively recent addition to Helovia and has taken it by storm. Branded with the seal of Death on her chest, intrigue and interest follow both her past and present. Though she is assuredly beautiful, her sometimes sharp personality reveals that there is more to this uni-peg hybrid than meets the eye. Proving herself able on the battlefield in the Basin’s warrior ranks, we can’t wait to see her test her mettle against the looming Kaos happenings! Congratulations!
Helovia RPG was created by Tamme and Blu and coded by Tamme also known as Schwartze. All coding, palettes and imagery are copyrighted to the website and are not for use outside of Helovia. Thank you to our ServerMaster for hosting Helovia. A special thanks goes to Neo for all of her coding help and fixing Tamme's errors, Boom, for her loyal service and creation of the Time God, and to Ali for her consistent contributions and dedication.
05-14-2015, 07:25 PM (This post was last modified: 05-14-2015, 07:31 PM by Zahra.)
Zahra, Ilham, and Hanna
It was pride that turned angels into devils
She was as constant as the season’s weather, as steady as the leaf litter driven to flight all around her – harried into frenzy by the late Orangemoon gale. Zahra stood amid it all, and the thin cloak of black and white canvased across her slight frame trembled as the chill of looming winter gnawed viciously. The wispy mottled hedge of mane rising along her crest flapped and whipped wildly to and fro, and the stiff downy tail to her rear was clenched down tightly between her pasty, scrawny buttocks. She was no fan of the cold to begin with, a fathomless, unexplainable loathing for snow and biting wind stirred deep within her, but there was little she could do to defend herself against the impending barrage – it was to be her first Frostfall on this earth, and perhaps the cruellest she would know.
Neither she nor Sikeax could have realised the storm which had been brewing, just beyond the horizon barely a week before, and the sandy coloured mare and her hobbaglobbin had been farewelled in good faith, confidence – because Zahra had after all, been wandering the planes of Helovia efficiently enough for months already… She could think of no sour experience in all of that time, no reason to doubt her security. In fact, the lone filly could barely remember anything about… well anything at all!
Bird was huddled stiffly between each of the foal’s long bony black forelegs, ears turned away from the howl of the wind, sharing with her sister what small insulation her white, fleecy coat could offer. Before the puppy lay the vast collection of possessions they had somewhat unintentionally acquired over the past week or so – the old leather bag belonging to the dead mare, into which had been crammed a strikingly colourful mass of feathers and charms (some of which belonged to her father and his dearly missed companions); a collar and a spear, a shining clutter of trinkets that she knew not at all the value of. Two were precious heirloom amulets, and four others (including one rather pretty green one) had been given by default in the bag.
So many bits and pieces to lug around…
That was the chief reason she had not wandered from beneath the thick awning of tangled, gnarled branches; bronze leaves that grew heavy and dull, and many still green who feared not the wrath of the Frostfall to come. As it was, their new cumbersome style of travel had kept them rather well, because any venture without cover in the weather upon them might have easily brought certain death. Zahra was grateful for that mercy and understood well enough as her teeth rattled together and bones ached with no formed fat upon their structure. She did wonder if there was any merit in finding someplace still more sheltered in the forest, like a cave or even a shrub, but as her eyes drifted between the collection below, she sighed deeply.
It was worth a try.
“We gunna move, Bird…” she revealed quietly, insecurely, not certain yet if her sudden wave of resolve was for the better. Tiny knees buckled as her sister slipped to one side and together they worked the hefty collar (perhaps lighter for a grown-up to sport), until it was slung awkwardly around her shoulders – an ill-fit, naturally. The little kitsune moved to transfer the amulets into the bag, but Zahra stopped her tenderly with an intervening nose and smiled. “Can’t break Da’s feathers,” she crooned gently. One by one, she lifted each trinket to rest beneath her own prickly, firmly clenched wing, and again, but to the other side went the compacted spear. Bird secured the bag and its contents between her sharp milk teeth, and they began the arduous task of finding greater cover – deeper still, in the dark, old labyrinth of trees.
I left that volcanic church with every intention of returning to my peaceful, (normal) ocean paradise. After what these eyes had just witnessed moments ago -- they could use a little predicability, mundane...the boring splendor of nature. I need time to gather my wit; this brain has already concocted a brilliant idea to retire on the warm sand for a week, a month -- or until spring comes. Though as fate would have it; Miss Mother Nature has goals of her own, and none of which involve my caramel bottom cushioned on her sandy shoreline.
Just before first light, these toes skip from the molten smooth earth with sluggish eagerness. This morning I'm rising slower than normal; had there not been dry thermals swelling from the active volcano to make my ascension much easier...take off might have ended prematurely. Recent events, uncomfortably dry heat and an overactive mind keep me from obtaining a full nights sleep. Once airborne the cooler thermals sharpen my mind enough to enjoy how each hollow feather is feasting from those accessible currents.
Primary and secondary pinions have recently blossomed into adult length; both at the peak of their strength and vitality. They carry me at a comfortable pace over the seascape, between peninsulas. It is for the luxury of speed that I chose this one way flight to vacation and sun. By noon, the lava littered desert is replaced with rough waves and semitransparent sandbars. Overhead, a soft looking heaven (the kind with fluffy cloud sheep) fades to grey and mist.
Intense looking storm clouds muster into a wall. Placid wind turns rough, whipping my seablasted hair into a tangle that I'd spend two days undoing. I pump hard and coast higher; both eyes peering with grim disappointment at the ominous sky. A nervous quiver slips down my spine; I take it as an instinctive warning. Get the heck outta here! Those rainstorm puffs are starting to spin clockwise, they circle with ever increasing fury. More than a little dismayed by this change of event, (yet heeding my intellect) -- these feathered appendages dip right, carrying me reluctantly away. It was impossible to know for sure, but those swirling plumes are part of a late season tropical cyclone. A hurricane whose path would shred through the coast -- my tropical getaway will soon be consumed by vicious torrents and rain. Like any reasonable person, I flee the weather; racing inland where the wet cold is traded for just cold. I'm reminded of this with every icy northern blast.
That sea storm made landfall the following afternoon. It brought icy rain and wind strong enough to throw even a skilled sky veteran off course. I've been pushed north through the wooded groves and meadow; bush shelters and their weak rooted cousins are threatened, many are destroyed by natures wraith. Instead of dissipating, the currents gather strength and breach the coast.
___________________________________
Days later, exhausted, but finally far enough inland to feel safe; I've taken temporary shelter beneath a canopy of thick spruce and oak. Their heavy trunks are in no danger of being toppled, they are packed tight; no matter how hard the tops of those remaining evergreens tremble from one frigid blast after another. The mood is sour, certainly I'm not feeling joy toward this unavoidable predicament. There was nothing to do other than wait out the storm -- my presence in these gloomy woods is a survival necessity.
The next night is much colder; tiny flakes of permafrost cover the twigs and fallen foliage -- I'm forced to travel deeper into the grove to escape the biting torrent. It is upon one of those spiderweb trails that my steps overtake a scrawny child. Her lean frame at this age should be considered youthful, plump, even sporty; but this babe is malnourished and full of sharp angles. Cold lips pinch together, the soul behind my flesh veil is appalled. These gems pointingly trace the sharp outline of each rib and the jutting thigh bone of either hip. Her chest is angled away, but I imagine it to be shallow; the muscles stunted and extremely immature. This was a child hardly old enough to be off the tit. A pale pup followed close at her heels. Two kids.
I seach for the strength to be hard; simulate a repulsive expression, solidify this softened composure. Practical...but is indifference considered callous? I want so desperately to turn away from whatever misfortunes have befell this runt. As if nature decides to answer, a strong shot of wind races down the path, it strikes my chest through the rippling cyclone I've been living in. Brows tighten against the blast; there is a low sound upon the wind. A male voice? Ears prick, this crown swivels around -- nobody but me, her, and the soft footfalls of our keratin feet against forgiving litter...
Confused, I slow my hasty march to match the other. There was no point asking if she was lost, or if her parents where around -- the look of all that this gilden bellied girl was lugging around and her pitiful appearance is answer enough. "Where you headed?" Unbelievable. I strive for indifference and end up sounding compassionate.
Unbeknownst to her entirely, this apparent tendency to roam (though she couldn’t remember ever being truly settled), had resulted in the acquisition of a small silvery orb – tinier still, than even a single white hair amongst those dressing her face. It was caught among the wiry tuft-mane lining her upper neck, nestled deep within where the radiating warmth of her body could nurture the life evolving within; presumably it had been there for some time, because as the oblivious filly stumbled and struggled through the murky depths of the forest, a spiderling emerged and dared into the open. She was tiny, insignificant in a world of giants, and the delicate creature’s presence was only felt as a warm, strange shiver crawled down the length of her host’s bony spine.
Zahra had felt the sensation once before – when she had touched her young sister as they huddled through the night together under these very trees. It prompted the filly to glance up firstly and examine the wild ripple of the leaves as the violent wind raked through them; many could not hold their grip upon the branches bearing them and they whirled about madly between the undergrowth below, let not to rest and wither like they ought. Their struggle reminded the paused foal, a little of the one she shared with Bird – unable to rest, driven ever on by the harry of their grumbling bellies (the fluffy white kistune mind you, had become quite the forager and was not so noticeably starving as her sister).
Golden eyes fell then towards the puppy, and a weary smile curled her lips. Neither doubted tomorrow’s dependability, and with any luck, a new sun would bring an end to the awful wind…
Brooding thought was interrupted by another ghastly howl, and wind leaked in to drive her on, whipping radically around her with force enough to prevent any opposition. The collar about her shoulders rocked uncomfortably across the sharp peak of her withers; it fitted her powerful father brilliantly, but not so much the frail foal of his blood, though a yearning in her heart fed her resolve and she thought never to return it to the cold, damp earth. In fact, the notion of surrender could not have been further from her mind. Always there was a voice resonating within, and she heeded it without question; it seemed to be as much a part of her as little Bird.
Neither sister heard the crunch of a swifter beast drawing near. Green and golden eyes alike were trained to the roving shadow world ahead, searching for any cover that might see them safely from the wrath of the late season weather. Perhaps they were a foolish pair, unaware of the dangerous life they led – but Zahra certainly knew no different, and they had survived the game thus far. Inevitably, it was the muffled sequence of his stride just as the wind lulled briefly, that drew their notice backwards. While the filly let innocent warmth spread through her expression, her nervous company began to growl softly, hackles lifting as her body hunched nearer to the littler. Bird was the stronger of the duo easily, and her instincts were far better refined.
The stallion wore upon his head, a strange array of branches, fine chain strewn between and their sharp quality did not pass the kitsune by unnoticed; regardless of the tenor in the young voice he aired.
“Outta the wind,” the taller babe answered brightly despite their predicament. It could have been raining as well… Zahra’s gaze travelled freely about the stranger’s body, noting that he seemed not as full-figured out as other stallions recently met (the golden one in the snow, and the speckled pink on who had retrieved the stick nest). The smile lingered regardless, and she found herself admiring the same rack of antler that her sister found so unnerving. The foal’s curiosity narrowed in on the jewellery. “What’s that up there?” she pried, stepping from the crouched pup to closer examine the lovely adornment. As she did so, the tiny spiderling she carried burrowed again into the safety of her bonded’s stunted mane.
05-21-2015, 09:33 PM (This post was last modified: 05-21-2015, 09:38 PM by Camon.)
camon.
Those storm clouds gather in her eyes
The answer is simple enough and perfectly vague -- as was the naïve grin that's plastered across the thin angles of her expression. Was it a comfort that at least this kid is old enough to be mindful of uncontrollable elements, or a curse for prolonging her painful existence? Perhaps the wisdom would keep this cherub alive for another couple of nights or maybe a week. Eventually, (as this mature mind is so keenly beginning to fantasize) the sparse reserves of the flesh would thin, before disappearing entirely. Those immature muscles would get consumed for fuel as a last resort; their remaining balance uselessly spent on keeping her heart beating.
The next phase happens slowly, agonizingly painful; soon the cold would start to sink in. Her body would feel heavy, exhausted, and demand sleep. Those eyes will close their velvet shutters; perhaps she'd hold one halfway open in a finally surge of energy to behold the planet her wasted soul is abandoning. I could almost see it. Wait.
My toes freeze misstep, the images that are playing across my mind come to life and for a split second it wasn't a make believe reality, an occurrence that might occur a week or two from now when this sprout was miles from my mind and beyond the reach of aid. It was right now. Right in front of me. I watch as a soundless shadow as those dual colored limbs curl her shallow, horrifically frail frame into a pitiful ball. Snow startes to fall from a coal colored sky, the flakes gather upon the soft down of her body. Gently providing a blanket the babe so desperately required; soon it covers her tiny length and the coiled plumage -- caressing the final remnants of strength from every tendon and fiber. Until there is no ember. No spark. Only a dead eyed foal, laying beneath an old magnolia.
A black shutter falls across my vision. I've blinked and image is gone, vanished. My body has remained unmoving, as has the youth -- she was peering up at me bemused. "What?" These lips form a word that stings the air as a gasp, they pull apart after a moment and utter the most pointless, soft phrase I've ever spoke, "It's a...thing..." Yes, I remember her question; vaguely. My throat constricts, swallowing a sudden wave of nausea and bile, "a trinket." She was dead... This fleshcoat trembles, a cold sweat sprouts from beneath the thickening hide. Unseen fleas that crawl beneath fur. "Your..." Don't. "T-there's a storm coming," I could run. Run far from this cursed land and its bat lizards, witch's, gods, orphans. A soft whisper drifts on the wind, carried by the calm hoot of a night owl. "Aye," it calls with somber note. "Let's..." I can't finish; not when I'm looking into those pale eyes.
On cue to make life more interesting, a light sprinkle of freezing rain starts to fall.
05-22-2015, 01:21 AM (This post was last modified: 05-22-2015, 01:24 AM by Zahra.)
Zahra, Ilham, and Hanna
It was pride that turned angels into devils
Her father had shown her on many occasions (more often for the sake of entertainment than necessity), how the collar stiff around her neck unfolded into the most intricate suit of armour. Zahra had always admired it upon him, glimmering silver and coloured, carved gemstones - all apparently bending to his whim - though not once had she ever imagined it might fall into her personal possession the way it had. Still more astounding was the fact that his memory, or that surrounding the cause and whereabouts of his death, had no true foundation in her mind. She both knew and often thought about he and her mother embraced on the stone in the tomb, but even when she set herself apart from the world to meditate, she drew only vagueness and blank – more often than not, it was her dreams which concocted grim vision of charred or beaten bodies.
But that was really all irrelevant, and it was view of those strangely angled horns beside his face that provoked her impromptu contemplation of all things fond.
Her quizzical eyes examined each fine, pale point carefully as finally he revealed the answer she had been waiting for – though scattered and quite vague, Zahra didn’t mind in the slightest, she had trinkets too. Fleetingly the filly’s golden eyes sauntered from his headdress to find the vivid emerald eyes set into his face, but they hastened back promptly as the expression gripping his face entirely captured her interest. Her gaze narrowed as suspiciously as a child could impress and the weird stallion began to stumble again, through another tangle of words.
At the mention of impending weather, the foal severed the strange bind of their eyes, took a breath and cast a lengthy look upwards; but alas view fell not as easily through the midst of the leaves as did the wind. Small shoulders shrugged beneath their ill-fitted garb and she pursed her lips to one side. “Ah… nup, I don’t see it,” she announced gently, smiling still – she made silly mistakes too. “But there’s wind, see?” Tiny skull turned as though to point beyond her withers , and barely above the curve of her wasted white rump jiggled the flaccid tuft of her pasty tail – wind-tossed, obviously. An invitation brewed across her tongue quickly after, but her thought was interrupted by the sudden arrival of rain, the lightest kind and possibly the coldest she could remember.
It seemed to slip through the green awning above like it was no barrier at all, and Zahra snorted sharply her discontent as shimmering beads formed along the ridge of her nose.
Bird sneezed softly as she inhaled the light, descending mist, and settled her verbal assault to nestle in nearer to her sister. Eyes as striking as the stranger’s before her, rose to inspect him thoroughly – though the filly had no memory of the recent horrors unfolded, the little puppy remembered the morbidity of death too well. Her heart rattled quietly against the cage of ribs surrounding, nervously, apprehensively; she was quite unwilling to place her trust so easily in any wanderer they happened upon such as this.
Her sister’s unsettledness drew Zahra’s notice and she caressed the soft fur gently between her large triangle ears. “Zahra…” she announced forwardly, as her face lifted into the wind. Squinting, she added, “That’s me, and Bird is her. Can we come?” They really had nowhere else to go, and the starving foal trembled as the plunging temperature gnawed at the skin barely hidden beneath her thin, foal’s coat. He was a grown-up too, and she knew very well that living grown-ups knew best – that they had all of the answers, and kept the young safe. “Please?” She whined imploringly, stepping one hoof nearer while white lashes fluttered innocently.
I'm certain a chunk of brackish bile is still lodged in the back of my throat; sadly, no amount of swallowing seems to quell it. Despite all outward appearance, this babe is unbelievably light hearted, naïve -- she doesn't even mention or else isn't bothered by the awkwardness of my stumbling replies. Was abandonment easier if the child is a brat? Even still, I throb with a passionate desire to rewind these past few minutes, return us to a junction that would alter my path -- make it where these eyes would never lay on this pitiful creature. I wouldn't be wrestling with morality. There wouldn't be uncountable guilt drowning my soul in sorrow for that walking, talking skeleton.
Zahra, she calls herself. For a moment I couldn't and didn't acknowledge. Both mirrors had purposely been looking past her; to a fixed point in the forest that didn't make my stomach slosh. Though, after a mature moment of consideration...they unwillingly drift back to Zahra and that fuzzy animal she calls, Bird. Disconnected brows furrow automatically; a rash and painfully confused NO was already forming on my tongue. But...when our gaze locks -- those honeyed iris's hold mine accountable. I couldn't; can't leave this girl in these woods alone.
I'm not heartless, and becoming an adolescent murdering onlooker wasn't on my bucket list. "Camon," I reply without extra ceremony, as forthcoming as a pile of rocks being hurled from a cliff. Emerald eyes, dark with shadow and naked strain, narrow into a fine line of conviction, "Let's go." Those icy tendrils soar down, splatter against our bodies and dampen the fine airs. Creamy pinions start to tighten selfishly, snuggling in the warmth. At least...until Zahra shivers and sniffs. One hard eye jerks over; my left wing extends begrudgingly. Compared to this malnourished kid, at half mast my feathered limb dwarfs her in a rigid shadow. Without a word it drifts protectively over the top of Zahra's smallish frame (careful to remain adrift and avoid all physical contact). These hollow feathers contain just enough oil to be water repellent, at least for a little while. I could shield this child and her...dog...bird...dog...from the weather as we start at a turtle speed pace back onto the trail.
Luckily we don't have to travel far before our wore trail is clogged with bramble and towering blue juniper. Our path is soft, thick with dry leaf and pineneedle. A mild season has made the ground warm enough to avoid most of those icy, silken fragments from lingering longer than a moment. At least for now. Ahead and right of the trail is a broken grouping of empty oak and spiny fir; nestled in the east are a few young evergreen spruce trees that have lost their weathering battle. They are stubborn and half bent over, their swampy branches arch six or so feet from the forest floor and create a natural lean-to. In all likelihood it will be the best we can find; besides, my wing isnt used to being a pretend umbrella and the base is starting to tingle. The width is large enough to cover a full size horse, but Zahra would have to crouch or lay down beneath me. Not exactly the best arrangement... Spotted caramel limbs brush against the prickly foliage to lead us in.
There had been a time once, very long ago, when Zahra had not faced such a lonely, uncertain future. Beneath the obscure blanket of fog in her mind, moving memories of a tender mother’s caress and similarly a father’s sheltering embrace, warmed her soul – fed her confidence enough to continue without true respect for her situation. The fact that she had not been altogether abandoned in this wild land, that the circumstances surrounding were both beautifully poetic, was indeed a comfort she clung tightly too. The claws of isolation were indeed sharp, penetrating, and their grip upon the filly’s soul was worryingly steadfast, but so too seemed to drape around her shoulders the protective arms of an unseen guardian. By this grace thus far, it seemed she had avoided much of the world’s strife.
The foal’s golden eyes glittered with childish hope, anticipation; both entirely undistracted by the uncomfortable expression engulfing the older horse’s fine, bronze-framed features. It never occurred to her that he might be on route for private business of his own, Zahra saw only the need of her own – and that of small Bird, who’s warmth radiated on against her leg.
As the freezing wetness set in around them, the stench of the rotting forest began to grow; the murk crept ever nearer, and shadows seemed to dance beyond reach of her gaze. It was a wilderness, wild and wonderful, but all the same it was terrifyingly unpredictable. The tiny Pegasus trembled and shook as the chill of the cooling season enveloped her uninsulated form, and as she dared that step nearer to the stranger, she could feel the aura of heat surrounding him, like a halo of glorious sunlight. Too quickly was her thin black and white pelt soaked through; frozen fractals melted instantly, the moment they found her meagre span. But the stallion needed little time to meditate it seemed, and quickly he revealed his name to her.
Camon… she repeated in thought, perhaps for the sake of the puppy who whined softly as the whistling wind harried their voices.
Zahra recognised nothing of the other’s evident strain, stress or disquiet as his instruction followed the first of his few noises quickly, and the girl stumbled forward across rickety, weak knees. With hunched shoulders and a sway neck she trudged along near his thigh, careful to match his long-legged (super-slow) stride all in spite of her growing fatigue. Inwardly she contemplated their destination; fantasized about a den with an uncanny semblance to the golden one often dreamt of – that which harboured the bones of her parents. She was sure their refuge-to-be would be as warm, secluded and dry; first impression told her that Camon was wise (older), and determined (quick upon his toes)… Perhaps he might even know of something tasty they could eat!
It only fed that childlike faith when his wing unfurled to shelter her from the descending torrent, and she slipped eagerly beneath, mimicking the gesture for Bird who skipped along below – Zahra’s wing was only part feathered of course, and the stallion’s vast extension served to cover both flanking sisters as it were.
The credulous filly liked him already.
He guided them along a well-worked trail, slick and waterlogged, and though tiny round hooves slipped and skidded often, her resolve was improving. Soon enough fallen litter began to build like a plush mattress beneath each step, and Bird slipped suddenly from the cover of the creature’s enormous white feathers towards the welcome appearance of skewed old timber; a naked waterfall of branches beneath which they could hide. With energy renewed by a surge of bright excitement, Zahra barrelled after the limber white kitsune. “In here Camon!” she cried out expertly, as though the shelter might have been overlooked altogether.
The willowy tree brushed about her soggy back as she paused easily within – there was plenty of room, at least for her and Bird. Flashing an eager smile, the filly waited for her newest friend to arrive.
As Zahra and her puppy frolic excitably into the crude lean-to with more energy than a sake of bones should reasonably have; I find myself doubtful and hesitate on the path. Her warm innocence, those honeyed gems turn to beckon mine -- they are hungry and consume the belief of security. I bristle inwardly, a vain attempt to harden this heart from her misery; even as Zahra's fragile smile tugs painfully on this soul. A second chance to walk away from this entire situation is once more refused for the sake of... What the hell are you doing Camon? I know diddley squat about the needs of children.
These birthright extensions bump against the low foliage as I pass beneath the first yawning arch. With practiced ease this crown dips low, bending this way and that to avoid further jostling or worst, a tangle. The tiny chains upon each antler jingle their cheerless song as these limbs pace as far into the shelter as was allowed. My right side is pressed against the cold, scratchy trunks of those felled beasts.
A listless grunt finds its way into the air, though not unkindly my jaw works to form an order, "You and that pup lay down," being heavier (older) than her, my toes have already soured the ground below us. I glance down at the upturned soil, disgruntled. The earth is bitterly frigid, even though it's generously bedded with leaves and needle. Both mirrors flick up to peer at the girl, it would also seem that malnourishment has taken its toil not just in flesh, but also in the natural manner that her hair would grow its winter shield. It was quite possible I have more hair on my groin than this scraggly youth has on her whole body.
Sleeping on a freezing bed wouldn't aid my venture in keeping this youngling from fading into the afterlife. After a final sigh, I'd come to a conclusion..."On second thought," my frown eases into an expression that could be taken as compliance "...scoot over." There isn't any privacy. As gracefully as can be managed, I unhook both knees and bow forward to the ground. Hindlimbs press beneath the warmth of belly and fur; the right side of my spine and feathers are squashed into those scratchy hollows. My left wing extends, offering with less begrudge than before. "Come on. Just watching the two of you sniffle, sneeze and shiver is making me cold...." It was all the invitation she would get, I settle into the tree and wait for Zahra to either accept or decline. At last, the weight of this damp carcass is feeling the strain of long travel; the source of energy that had been acting as a spur was nearly spent.
To her gullible delight, the barely known stallion followed along after a slight pause (insignificant amid the chaos of whining wind and snapping, lashing vegetation all around), and Zahra murmured aloud contentedly, “Oh yay…” Scrawny, bony, black and white limbs shuffled gracelessly to accommodate him, the warmth and security he offered, and beneath the white pup slithered artfully to avoid her sister’s innocent fumbling. The filly’s jaws spread suddenly with a small jerk and within, the soft pinkish tongue lolled lazily beside clean white pegs. “I’m sleepy,” she mumbled pointlessly, aware of a new nagging conviction within – the pleas in her watching bonded’s mind, desperate to remain vigilant in the company of the stranger. Neither realised the connection, the reoccurring coincidence and Zahra merely brushed the unusual, uncomfortably feeling aside.
It was true that there was amble room – according to her – and feathery, bristling wings stretched boldly, stiffly, through the cold space remaining; little did she know the stallion was pressed hard against the old, rough timber. To the puny foal, the world around her was immeasurable, so vast that she imagined there to be no actual end. Everything she noticed was magnified grossly, ridiculously, and a situation that might have seemed utterly claustrophobic to one, was thrillingly spacious from her narrow-minded perspective.
Bird on the other hand, was quite repulsed by their meagre quarters. Though sheltered and without the wrath of the wild weather beyond, she was not the least bit comfortable with the continuing company – not after the encounter with one adorned similarly in the snow. Her faith had been quite eroded and she would have preferred the isolation of before.
She sighed at the sound of the older horse’s instruction (there was no mistaking the note of his voice), and large snowy ears drifted into a backwards recline.
Across her shoulders, rested awkwardly beneath the point of her withers against the slope of her pale back, the collar was growing too much of a burden for the tired filly to bear alone. Camon spoke again, and lithe inky ears flicked towards the pensive hum of his tone; obediently – and curiously – she slid sideways. His flesh followed, sort of, folding towards the earth with an audible thump, and the foal watched with ever expanding interest; he beckoned her near with one wing raised towards the makeshift ceiling.
As Zahra slumped down heavily across buckling knees (the golden scab still dressing one pulled quietly as her skin stretched across flexing sinew), the cool, damp earth rose quickly like a steadying pillar to hold the gleaming silver heirloom. It was indeed a relief, and she turned thereafter to assess their bronze-dotted friend whose heat she was nestled against at last, so trustingly. “How come the wind followed ya still?” she queried, confusion ripe through expression and tone, while her keen eyes struggled to follow the queer breath just visible and swirling around him (and almost her) like an ever busy flurry. Though visible also before, Zahra had merely passed the wind off as hounding weather – more of the descending moisture and wrath which had been so desperate to freeze them solid.
Let's take a minute...to run over the hash which is racing doubtfully through my brain.
Hypothermia wouldn't be a problem, not when this kid is agreeably accepting help...which would make life easy on herself, on me. (That's a good thing, right?)Wrong!! Easy made it extremely difficult to justify abandonment in a few confidence building hours. Easy made this whelp friendly to not just me...but every ass within 100 yards. Cautious came with age and it certainly wasn't a foals strong suit.
Though Zahra's acceptance had been anticipated, I still found myself swallowing revulsion as the bony length of this frail skeleton buckles against me. Those gangly limbs scoot her tri-colored barrel closer until the swell of feather and quarter was pressed firmly against the speckled radiator that was my side and undercarriage. Gently, as hind cradling her precious fawn, I casually fold the top of my wing over said child and that little (dog) creature called, Bird. Effectively creating protection against the elements and providing a shield of warmth by physical contact. The irony of this circumstance took my mind back...a year ago. (Which wasn't really all that far in my past.) This handsome body had been no older than she, though it HAD been healthier.
Melancholy crystal dribbles over the breast of a lean cliff edge we'd taken shelter beneath. An impassible mountainscape looms above us; it's walls of granite are smooth by appearance at ground level. Yet, not as impassible as I might believe. Every so often, a mountain goat or hind would leap fearlessly onto our ledge. Cloven toes stretching to grapple, scattering bits of fragile flint. They would bound up and scale that wall, denying death, debunking our belief.
Like a dance their athletic bodies did trace an unseen path, tiny feet found footholds that only wisdom and practice could depict. Even the little ones had no problem jumping onto the precarious holds their parents use. A quiet quiver ran cold in my blood -- I tremble and turn a grim look to my shield and sword; burying this face into welcoming security. A heavy rustle glides across my spine, it pushes against these downy hairs and settles like a warm shadow. Momma shifts her chocolate eyes to mine, a rare smile, reassuring. The effect is instant, she soothes any fears or worry.
Never would I forget the feel of those long, soft pinions; darkening our world. Keeping me small, innocent. It wasn't far after that mother dearest taught me to fly -- [second best memory EVER!] and our midnight snuggling was put to an abrupt halt. Childhood is always short lived for youths born on the road. Emeralds shift uncomfortably to the roof of our hollow; purposely avoiding said filly. "I don't know...it's been doing this for months," truth. My chin lowers, frowning at the semitransparent bubble cluster that encircles the top of my neck and hangs in a neat, levitating circle, "Nothing makes it go away," nobody was more conscious of how annoying it could be than me, "after awhile it gets easier to ignore."
Said torrent visibly stretch's, wildly bending outward. It engulfs the youth quietly -- then retreats to plaster itself inches from my skin. These weary eyes had enough energy to roll. "Never mind it. What are..." I pause, callous eyes can't help but soften when they settle upon those sunken eyes. Wet fur, Wet plumage. The term 'stink' wasn't strong enough to describe how desperately we both needed a bath. "We are going to be stuck here for awhile...might as well try and get some rest."
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