Seasons changed once more. She had lived to see three of them now. The chill of Frostfall that haunted her memory, the overwhelming changes of Birdsong and the long, languid days of Tallsun. All the days within them lay behind her, like a string of multicolored beads. Though some might seem similar, none were identical to the other and she treasured each one the same as the next. It was funny how events that appeared so overwhelming and painful could fade in clarity with the passing of time. In some ways she was grateful for it, for who wanted to spend the life drowning in pain and sorrow? But in some ways, Erthë feared this steady, unrelenting movement away from the things that mattered. Her earliest memories were already obscured by the mists of forgetfulness, and in the same way she found that faces and names grew harder to recall as time and distance widened the gap between her and them.

This, in particular, was painful as it was frightening.

Would she one day wake up and realize that she no longer remembered the color of her mother's eyes? Would she eventually forget the name of the blackbird who had loved her enough to embrace death in her place, have the most treasured moments fade until nothing remained but a vague sensation of loss?

These thoughts occupied her more and more often as the light of the sun dimmed and faded, as nights grew longer and temperatures plummeted. They filled her with a cold dread that neither vicious monsters nor crippling injuries had ever before managed, and it seemed that she in the struggle to occupy herself, ended up doing reckless things.

Foolish things, even, on a scale that put into question both sanity and level of intelligence.

There was really no other word for what she was doing than idiotic. Leaving the Edge without telling anyone where she was headed was one thing. While not particularly nice or smart it was still on the right side of sane. Same could be said for straining her weak legs by undertaking long journeys. It wasn't smart. Actually, it was leaning towards dumb, because Erthë knew she would suffer for overexerting herself, yet she did it anyway. Her destination wasn't insanely far away, which made it feel somewhat justified, but distance combined with steep hills and slopes and winding mountain trails left an ache in her body that wouldn't recede for weeks and weeks.

On the whole, every decision in itself could be seen as perfectly reasonable. It was just that once put together, the whole endeavor started to take on the shape of impending disaster, the sort of brainless thing one might expect from testosterone pumped colts during their first serious courtship.

Erthë's only excuse was that she was tired of walking. For the better part of her life she had been practicing, training, dreaming and longing for the day when she would finally learn how to fly. Her mother had trained her, miss Iona had trained her, and today the girl was determined to make it happen. But with a poorly mended leg she would not be able to achieve the required speed needed to take off. She needed help, a way to get the wind under her wings and enough time to get the hang of things before she hit the ground.

So she climbed up all the way to the mountain plateau, headless determination pushing her onwards step by step until she found herself standing there, on the very edge with nothing before her but the vast expanse of air and the softly curving horizon.

Tentatively she stretched out the wings, feeling the cool mountain air whisper over each feather. It was a clear day, breezy and crisp and bright. Every gentle gust of wind seemed to invite her, tempt and plead for her to come and play. It caught beneath the wide-stretched wings, pushed against her body and as she angled the feathers Erthë felt that swooping sensation in the gut again as it tried to lift her off her feet, just like Iona had showed.

Her heart hammered in the chest. The tongue felt oddly large and dry in the mouth as she balanced there on the edge between known and unknown, fear and longing and brainless excitement waging war in the confines of her skull...

But she hadn't come all the way here just to chicken out now. With a deep breath the child steeled herself and leaned into the wind, over the edge, ready to fly or die on this most beautiful of days.

Come what may, she would fly today.

Erthë

the      night      is      calling      my      name

It was really far down. As she teetered there on the edge between life and death, earth and solid ground, the filly hesitated. Determination seeped from her like water through cupped hands until mere stubbornness kept her in place, swaying and swallowing hard as the wind ruffled through her hair. Buffeted this way and that by its rough affections Erthë struggled with herself and this sudden appearance of acrophobia, found herself torn by the desire to test her wings and a very real fear of death.

This was new. She had been afraid before, but never like this. Fear of pain, fear of losing someone important, fear of humiliation and loneliness and crippling injuries she understood. Never before had she truly feared to die however, and now it struck her like a kick in the gut. A guttural groan vibrated through her cords as she literally wriggled there on the rim, porcelain cloves stepping precariously on the barren rock and dislodging pebbles and dust as she stood there. Mere moments had passed but to Erthë it seemed like a small eternity, quivering heartbeats reminding her of how wonderful it was to breathe, to think, to blink and smell the crisp tartness of ripening fruits and berries that came sweeping up from the world below.

Was it really worth risking all of this, just to learn using her wings? Was it worth maybe sacrificing her life to have more?

But then, it was her own freedom she forsook by backing off. The chance to go wherever she wanted, when she wanted, unhampered by pain or gravity. Unbound, free, independent...

Yes, she wanted to fly. But maybe throwing herself off a cliff wasn't the right way to go about learning to do that.

And once this thought brought her back to her senses, Erthë sighed in relief and turned, smiling with relief as she made to put her forelegs back onto solid ground. Retreating, but with honor and self esteem still intact.

Before she had properly folded the wings back to their resting place however, a gust of wind grabbed hold of them and jerked her forward. Erthë lost her balance, and with a startled shriek she disappeared over the edge.

Erthë

the      night      is      calling      my      name