When we at last arrived in the Aurora Basin that the increasingly timid mare called home, it was at the end of a long and uneasy morning. Though I am sure now looking back that it was likely as kind a day as any other, I remember considering the clouds to be ominous at the time.

We had rid ourselves of the stallion whom I had, lacking all affection and only to myself, come to refer to as thick-headed three-horn. I had not given him the satisfaction of calling him this or anything other than you throughout the journey, and so when he made his way elsewhere I felt satisfied that he had gotten no pleasure out of my presence. My other company had tried so hard to persuade him to stay that I had lost some faith in her sensibilities, and as a result I had maintained a chilly, abstinent quiet for the rest of the walk.

When I become tired I become short tempered. You would have learned this soon enough, had I gone with you. Some consider such a cold hatred to be a lack of control, but I would think it is the height of the emotion's management. In that moment, unimpressed by my company, I was losing my patience with my situation and in desperate need of rest. But such a thing I would never ask for. I would never show such weakness, one never should. So as far as they were concerned this may have appeared to be my constant state of being.

I didn't plan on staying for very long--didn't expect to find anyone, find her, there. I didn't see any problem in portraying myself in such a manner.

There at the border of the land were two great statues, impressive figures meant to ward off threats and fools, I suspected. After not listening or speaking to the mare for quite some time as a vague punishment for her poor taste in company, I decided to break my silence for that moment, if only so as not to miss an opportunity to comment on this herd's blatant insecurities.

"Impressive," I said quietly, my voice sounding stark and sudden after so long keeping my lips shut, exhaling heavily through my wide, dark nostrils. "I've never seen paranoia and exclusivity reach such great heights."

Perhaps a comment such as that was against my better judgement, son. It is never good to insult the lion in its den. But I did not, at the time, perceive this mare to be anyone of import. She was just a simple guide, shaking at the thought of me, guiding me through the cold all while knowing I didn't need her to lead the way. I would have found my own path, in this herd, alongside it, or somewhere else entirely. I think she knew that. But maybe it didn't matter, in the end, what I had said. Maybe she didn't hear me.

I had ceased walking, standing in the Sentinel's shadow as this mare seemed to impatiently encourage we go further. I hesitated, for a moment. I watched the dim, stray rays of sun shine off the metal equid towers erected by a herd either so powerful or so desperate that they had to show the world their strength. I felt the snow fill the cracks in my hooves and the chill freeze my triple-horned crown to something like ice. I thought about whether or not I should stay here, in this spot, and in the grander sense whether or not I should stay here, in this herd.

But in the end I walked after her, head low, body sloping and swaying with every step, veiling itself in cerulean sheets of hair. I thanked her, briefly, for the welcome--first with my bright blue gaze being devoid of disappointment, and secondly with a nod and vague upturn of my lips that would have been missed in a blink.

To the caves, then. To a home, until I found it was empty of all that I needed.

How little I knew, then.

""