In my absence, the mountains have changed little.  I look up at them and the drifting white flecks with a curious weft of the air, finding the odors of strangers on the wind, as well as familiar ones.  There is a strange absence of my mother’s scent, however, which is plentiful in my memories – but there is still the pungent stench of my hydrophobic old man with his unkempt hair and bewildered eyes.
            Would he know me?
            I have grown, tall and muscular, as much the Engineer’s son as my mother’s, perhaps more so; my deep black coat has faded and dappled in places to a rich, dark brown, my golden markings that had been indistinct in the soft coat of a foal now defined and gleaming as the ribbons of color had been upon my dam.  My thick, dark mane is tangled, entirely reminiscent of the man who sired me, baring a random assortment of twigs and leaves from my ventures that I give as much care as he. Most admired of my numerous changes, however, is not my newfound strength or speed, but the long, ebony and aureate horn that rises from my brow, both a weapon, and a crown.
            It glows in the rising light of the sun, a beacon that makes me wonder of my friends and their own crowns, of how much they have grown and changed, and of my sire.  Erebos’ sire had worn one of the longest horns I had even seen, and surely he too had inherited such an impressive blade, while Aithniel’s horns were surely curled all the way around her darkly rimmed ears.  The machinist was as he always was, mad and enraptured with his projects, occasionally lured away by a playful child wanting to learn or a pretty woman, laced with gold.
            Are they all there, waiting for me?
            Could they forgive me, for leaving like I did?
            Even if they are gone from Helovia forever and have no further love of me, was what I learned and gained worth their loss?
            I found nothing I was looking for, after all, for my mother was gone as if spirited away, and I wandered too far in search of her to easily find my way home at such a young age. 
            I found, instead, an enchanting forest, and within that forest, the Gods my mother had searched for but never found in the strange, powerful deities of Helovia.  Part of me hoped greatly that she would be among those I missed so deeply, so that I could tell her of the answer to all her long nights spent staring into the heavens, wondering where the pieces of my grandmother’s story had slipped away to.
            Perhaps it would soften her heart; perhaps, it would be as Xynia thought, and only harden it further.
            Xynia…
            The deep snow reminds me of her, as does the moon.  I am thankful for the red light of the dawn which colors the glistening silver of the ice, blessedly taking her image from me.  On ridges below, the crimson fades into pitch, and occasionally, the shadowy forests unleash a flock of winged figures which climb towards heaven with songs falling from their beaks.
            I wish she was here, and could see it.  I tried so many times to tell her of the tunnels of ice that, when lit by lightning, were almost as lively a blue as her eyes, or of the great gray stone peaks with the eternally white caps, colored by the ribbons of rainbow light that danced and flickered across the skies. 
            I don’t think she truly ever understood the beauty of it, so different was the painting from her ancient, redwood forest filled with fireflies, or the deep and massive cavern in which her people looked out upon the Starplane, the only pool of its like in all of Loorien; the Nightwalk, the wood was called, and for a long while, I too was trapped in the beauty of the flowering meadows and whispering boughs of the thousand year old trees. 
            Or, perhaps, I was simply lost in their ideas, or her gaze.
            Perhaps all of it held me there, for a while.
            But the heart yearns for home, so I heard many adults say as a child, and while I didn’t really understand or believe them then, I think that I just might now.  How else could a young man walk away from a land such as the Nightwalk, where I had been fortunate and blessed?  Already I had had a place among their warriors, a rightful place, my first blood spilt and left to rot in the sun in some land far away and foreign, a land I never learned the name of, and if Xynia was to be believed, I had her love, if I so wanted it; there was also the love of the First Gods, the promise of my people waltzing through the celestial ribbons of eternity, the mysticism that had captured my heart and lured me into its clutches of faith. 
            Vaelenne, her ancient face intensified in the low lighting of the vast cavern at the heart of the firefly forest, answered the capitulations of my soul with a very simple answer; that I must do what I felt was right.  And what did I feel, when I asked myself?
            I felt ashamed, ashamed that I wanted to remain here in this land of strangers when my father was in Helovia, and when my mother would return there if she was to be found anywhere.  I felt even more awful when I thought of Aithniel, and how I had left her alone in a land of wolves, knowing that my mother was not there to protect her; I thought of my duties as a prince to the land and how I had left them all behind.  Lastly, I thought of all I had learned, and how it was as selfish to remain here with my faith, where it could not spare Aithniel her pain, or another their blood.
            What was right, I decided that evening, was to leave behind sweet Xynia, her ancient grandmother Vaelenne, and brave Furen, my tutors and friends, and to fill the void that had grown since I had left all hope of finding my mother behind, and found, instead, this glorious herd and its many precious gifts.
            Now that I am here, of course, it doesn’t feel as I thought it would.  The wind is as cold as I remember it, and the mountains are the same, but the smells that drift down the peaks along this wind are strange, mingled with familiar odors, such as my father’s, or Thranduil’s; there is even the faintest of smells that might be Erebos, for it makes me think of him as a little goat boy in a time that almost feels like a lifetime ago.  They are not the same as my memories, no matter how similar the details, and it leaves me feeling oddly out of place, like a puzzle piece which fits – but is from another picture.
            Still, there is a thrill which rises through me as I see the slip in the mountain face that will take me to the hidden valley of the Time God and his horned children; my eyes look about me at all the oh so familiar swirls and ripples in the stone, the usual drops in the path expected and somehow smaller in reality than they ever seemed in my thoughts.  The gleam of bronze greets me as I emerge into the vale, the pink tinged heavens bleeding their light down upon me and the sentinel that has stood proud in my mind, and which still stands, guarding those within.
            Feeling an anxious giddiness well up in me I pause to look up at his proud, metallic face, my heart thudding almost audibly in the confines of my chest.  It seems odd to be so nervous, but I have been gone for over a year – so much could have changed in this time period that I am wary of being attacked as much as I am eager to greet those I left behind so long ago.  My ears twitch atop my head, catching the occasional quiet conversation which drifts over the misty mountain morning, a few silhouettes lazily lingering alongside the pink colored glass of the lake, others walking patrol, or doing whatever else they have deemed important in this early hour.
            I immediately recognize none of them, but it was often this way even when I woke and slept here every day; the tides of time drag so many in and out of this land, it will be a wonder if I know more than a few, and it is under such logic that I decide to remain here, beneath the figure of the bronze beasts crafted by my father, as instructed by my dam, occasionally looking up at the gleaming red of the mechanical guardian’s eyes.
 
[ OOC:  Rikyn is backkkkk~ Come at him bro.  Friends/family maybeh? :o ]  

 
 
 

It is the sound of his hooves which makes me move my eyes away from the behemoth in bronze, a cadence that draws to mind the cool, somber darkness of a cavern in midnight, a cave which stands opposite the snow laden vale from where I now stand in the shadows of my father’s creations.  I look away from the crimson glare of the sentinel’s mask, and I find that the bronze gaze that lingers on me is one that is as familiar as the gleam of the metal guardian, or the thought of my mother’s resting place.

We stare at one another a long while, my sire and I, the familiar and confused face of Kirchoff appearing at his side.  An odd pulling grows in my stomach that seems to tie my heart into its clutches, my muscles tightening and my crown lifting in what feels like elation and terror all knitting together into one catastrophic, inner fissure. The fear that he would have forgotten me instantaneously dissolves into the deeper worry that he is upset with me.

I don’t know what to make of the strange silence, or the stranger expression which crosses his normally unreadable face.  I perceive too many emotions to draw a full conclusion as to what he feels, and it makes me feel very young and inexperienced again, as if I had not grown at all since I had left in search of my dam.  

Unbidden, my eyes begin to burn in the corners, a slow sway given to the tufted tail which has lingered behind me, still until now.  One ear slips back slowly as I take a single step forward, my golden eyes searching his face for any sign that he is not angry with me, and that I can come home.

"Dad…" I begin, looking away at the last moment from his stare, "I…"

The sound of his grunt fills my ears just before he embraces me, strange warmth flickering to life in what had been the terribly clenched confines of my heart, and with a breath of relief and happiness I sink my own neck across his shoulders, leaning into the strength that, once, had been the greatest I could imagine.  All the worry that he was angry with me slips from my mind, and instead I am filled with the quiet peace that comes from knowing that, no matter my failings or successes, I will have a home here, wherever my father and family is.

I don’t know how long we linger in unspoken gladness, but after some while we are parted and I can look again at him, this man who seems less magnanimous than I remember him, now that we stand nearly even in height, and yet no less admirable; still, he is the same, though perhaps more haggard, a strange melancholy to him that had not been there when I last watched him tinker on his creations and mechanisms, though, for once, he is the one cleaner and better groomed than myself.

I notice the contradiction with a smile, though I do not bother explaining what I find so amusing.  

"You’ve been busy, I see," I say, looking over at the twin sentinel, feeling awkward now that we’re again left to looking at one another, and not quite wanting to talk about anything more serious than his machines, perhaps the weather.

My voice is much deeper than he will remember it, taking after him again in this aspect with its fullness.

I have missed his presence and his voice, I discover, the strange inflections comforting in the most warming of ways; it reminds me, not only of my father, but of my uncle Torleik, and both of these men had been strong, powerful figures which guarded over my friends and I while we played, both of these men had offered me lessons in how to be a man.

From my father, I learned that men are not soft and fluctuating as the women of my life; I learned the value of a chosen course, and that certain rewards lay at the end of each path for those who are faithful.

From Torleik, I learned that a man is not cruel. A man is just, and does as his heart believes to be right.

And from both, I had learned the value of family. I had come home for them, after all, certainly not because I was unable to find happiness in the Nightwalk.

He follows my eyes to the sentinel, though I sense he lacks enthusiasm for them, there being no rambling about their creation or their make as there was in my youth when the behemoths were mentioned. Instead, he talks of my mother, which makes my heart do an odd, sinking flip within my chest, my ears splaying aside and my maw flinching to the left as if her mention had struck me in the jaw.

"She had many plans."

I say, not wanting to touch upon the full truth that my mother is gone, and has been for a while now; I can feel it bleed across my face, the sense of abandonment that fills me, the burning of my pride when I try to believe that she will return, and the fear that nearly steals my breath when I think that she is truly gone forever. I hope he doesn’t notice as he returns his familiar gaze, his distant eyes looking over me strangely.

“You were always my greatest creation,” he says suddenly, out of no where, the brevity of the statement given truth by the strange mistiness of his expression, the warmth that radiates through his normally reserved and cool tones. My heart, already bulging, bursts.

A single tear breaks free from my right eye, rolling slow down my black cheek, across a double golden line. Awkwardly my tail curls upwards and my gaze meets his, and the deluge of emotion which ripples through me, warm and proud, leaves me feeling like I should say something – but I can find no words, only stand staring like a dullard with love written across my face, wondering how I could have ever left this place to begin with, wanting to give him everything I can to make up for running after my mother like a fool. Dumbly, my mouth opens as if it is going to reply, but no words arrive to me, only the gentle touch of slowly wafting snowflakes.

Blessedly, he speaks again, but the question nearly ruptures the little bubble of joy that I had been suspended in, filling the bright warmth of our reunion with a chill sweep of regret.

It is not the weather or his machines, but my life he wants to share. It makes sense; surely I would want to know the same things. It makes it no less bittersweet in recollection.

"I, uh, well, I went to find mom," I begin awkwardly, voice still full of emotion, not really sure where to begin my story, "it wasn’t hard to sneak out, invisible like I was because of the Time God. I think I managed to track her for a week or so, until I reached this forest at the other side of the clearing beyond the Threshold of Helovia.

"There was a really big storm, lightning every few seconds and rain so thick that I couldn’t see in front of me anymore. I took shelter in a cave for the night, and when it finally cleared, her trail was gone, and I wasn’t invisible anymore."

I shrug, not really understanding how a God’s magic could be lifted, and why it hasn’t returned to me now that I’m home. Part of me worries that the Lord of Spark is simply waiting to blast me into ashes for running off after bothering him for power I didn’t even really know how to use.

"The only problem was that my trail was gone, too, and that I was quite lost. I decided, instead of trying to find my way home, that I would keep going where I thought mother was, and hope that I came across her.”

I suddenly feel very sad, the sensation of my hope dying returning to me as it had that day, in the sunlight after the rain. An apologetic light consumes me as I tell of deciding to not return home, the same guilt that had driven me from the sanctum I had found again rising in my chest.

"I found a forest instead, called the Nightwalk. The trees there, dad, are as tall as some of the smaller peaks of the Frostbreath, and when the night fell on it as I wandered, thousands of fireflies rose out of the ferns and flowers, so many that it seemed like everything was covered in living starlight, floating and flickering through the rising mist."

My gaze grows distant, so clear the memory of the Nightwalk and its enrapturing beauty, as if I had only left there yesterday, and not the many weeks ago it had taken me to reach here.

"And then, Xynia, a filly of the Nightwalk, found me…" I stumble here, my eyes growing misty again in memory of our friendship, and the other ways she had come to be so very important to me, "she found me some short distance from the rest of her herd, while she was out chasing fireflies. She brought me to her people, who live in this very impressive cavern at the middle of this forest, sitting right in the side of this old as dirt mountain. The cavern is huge, dad. Makes the storage caves look like little nooks."

"Anyway, this cave has a pool in the middle of it. It’s about five feet across and I don’t think it has a bottom, and it’s magic. I once dropped a glass orb full of fireflies and rocks in it, and even though Xynia stabbed me -"

I gesture to a small scar on my shoulder where her immature horn had managed to puncture the flesh; it grows smaller each time I look at it, it seems, and I fear it will soon fade away all together, but for now it is still there, and it makes me smile.

"it was totally worth it, because the light flickered out of sight before it ever stopped falling."

I pause, letting the memory of her anger and the rise of my success fill my head for a while longer before a small chuckle escapes me and I continue.

"It is called the Starpool, and the unicorns of the Nightwalk use it to call upon their ancestors about once or twice a season. Their priestess says that this is possible through the magic of their Gods, the First Gods, who were long ago propelled from Loorien.

"Basically, they offered me a place to live for a while and anything else I needed of them so long as I promised to stay and learn about their First Gods. And so I did, mostly because I didn’t know how to get home, and they seemed to know about most of the nearby kingdoms from their legends…"

But also because I was lonely. I don’t want to admit as much to my father.

"Eventually it started to feel like home," I admit, looking at him with the conflictions that still besiege me evident in my eyes, "it wasn’t hard, as it sort of was home, with so many unicorns I couldn’t count them, and a belief system not unlike the one to be found here, in so far as our heritages are concerned. I learned to fight, my most common tutor a stallion of some few years older than me. I even got to use my knowledge, once."

There is an air of pride to this statement, a pride which is colored by the somber notes of having taken a life alongside my fellows. I have woken many nights to the dream-stare of two dying eyes, the final embers flickering in their dark brown depths, the sound of screaming and the crackle of magic filling the air, but each time the pace of my heart grows less frenzied and my resolve that I have done right by Loorien grows more steadfast.

"Yet, for all they gave me, for all the love I found for them and from them…" I meet my father’s eyes with all the resolve I can muster, hoping he sees the sincerity of my words, the depth of my drive to return home and to make right all that had been jostled loose in my absence, "I could not help but smell the snow kissed air of the Basin, dream of the sunlight on the smooth surface of the lake, or hear the crackle of the Time Lord’s magnificent step in every bright bolt of lightning that crossed the sky. I could not forget what I had walked away from, and it seemed equally wrong to keep what I had learned to myself, in a land where they had no need of it.”

I pause to think again of the First Gods, of their promise of eternity, of peace and of plenty. I think of the endless war of my mother’s hidden coven, of how they have time and time again failed beneath their banner of blood and mindless slaughter, and I think of the victory we might have if, together, we walked with the blessing of the highest of powers.

Yet, no matter how deep my faith, deeper still is the need to share words and companionship with my father and his quirky hound.

"That’s most of the story, I think," I say, returning the ruminations of my travels, replaying what I had said to myself very briefly before smiling at my sire, feeling an odd relief now that I have told someone what had become of me, "the quick versions, anyway."


@Ulrik