Eventide is softly casting o'er the earth a magic spell,

And a love-song, everlasting, on the night wind seems to swell.

It was nothing new for outsiders to come calling at the edge of the woods. Few dared move past the crumbling glass wall to enter the misty shadows beyond, daunted perhaps by the density of the vast canopy or else worried about what the natives might say. This was as it should, apparently, because beyond this unassuming line of trees could be found the very edge of the world, and it was wise to tread lightly upon lands blessed by the infamous Moon Goddess.

More often than not, they came calling for the king. Rumors must already have begun to spread about the shift in leadership, because lately the traffic had been greater than usual. Emissaries arrived from foreign herds to extend congratulatory words of welcome all while keen eyes absorbed what they could of internal structures. Prodding, no doubt, for signs of weakness within the Elephant King, his herd or the forces of the land itself.

They would be hard pressed to find any such thing. The transition from one ruler to another had been quiet and pain free, with no objections raised and a general air of acceptance lingering over the herd. Tembovu was liked by many, a strong and able man that was easy to like. Compared to the quiet, withdrawn Mauja or the so often absent Torleik he was a dream come true. Ever since he accepted the crown the trickle of fresh blood to the herd had grown into a steady stream, new faces appearing amidst the trees by the day. Voices rang wherever one went now, and there was a bustling, busy yet somehow excited activity going about. A rebirth of the herdland that once had been amongst the strongest in Helovia, World's Edge was a force to be reckoned with again.

As such, it was without surprise nor any particular interest a pale filly registered a call for the big stallion. Poor Tembu must be running himself to exhaustion every day in the struggle to find and attend every visitor that required his presence. Maybe they should get the Glaziers to build him a hall, a throne room where they could come to him instead. She remembered the stained glass roof of an ancient rotunda hidden in a grove further south and tried to picture what such a thing might look like here. Maybe it could be built on the cliffs by the sea, where the sun would set in the sea behind the back of the monarch and light of both sun and moon could break through colored tiles set into elaborate patterns.

The thought made her smile as she picked her way slowly across a glen, grazing upon the rich grasses that thrived amidst the giant roots. Other rulers might find such a structure impressive, but her friend hardly needed anything else to draw attention to him. He was big enough for three already and it just didn't seem like him to hold audience with ceremonies, crowns and all those other things she'd thought kings were about.

So used to the constant summons was she, that it took the filly some time to realize that another name had been called, just after that of the mammoth. Blinking, she raised her head and gazed in the direction of the southern border, ears twitching to catch the echo of a voice she somehow felt she ought to recognize. Surely no one would call on her. Had they mistaken the name, and intended for Elsa, the general, to come? Troubled now and unwilling to get mixed up in any confused situations, the young hybrid shook her head to rid the view of silken curls and began to walk towards the caller, as curious as she was annoyed to have been interrupted in her meal.

Walking was cumbersome with the limping stride. She left the guest waiting for quite some time before her pale form materialized from within the swirling mist. Pale as the drifting vapor, every step silent and moving as softly as drifting snow Erthë looked around in search of the voice's owner. She had changed too, as was in the nature of young people. During the season that had passed since she met Nephele in the Threshold forest the white dove had grown several inches, her milky body no longer spindly and frail but graceful instead, lean and willowy with a gentle, ethereal glow to her that would never quite disappear no matter how many years went by. Her horns had grown out almost fully by now, smoothly curving from the poll and cupping the cheeks with a frosty gleam. The eyes that searched for and landed upon the red-marked pegasus were pale and held a frightening amount of knowledge for one so young, intelligence burning clear and bright beneath the smooth brow.

Erthë gazed at the mare for a while, took in the rippling muscles and shimmering coat, trailed from the thick sun-bleached mane to a new symbol on the flank she couldn't remember seeing before. Her face was impassive for the duration of several moments; then, quite suddenly, the filly smiled and made to close the distance between them.

"So it was my name I heard, after all" she murmured, laughter playing within voice and glittering like ghostly lights in her eyes. "Hello Nephele. You look well - the dragons of the Throat didn't eat you?"

She extended a silky nose in a greeting, not quite ready for hugs yet but not half as averse to the dark colored mare as she had been upon their first meeting.

Again a voice calling for him rang over the Edge. It was not an unwelcome sound, though a seemingly more common one, lately. The Elephant paused his current contemplations, standing far above the sea on craggy, white cliffs. The voice sounded familiar… but only just. This, too, was seemingly more common, lately. Vaguely familiar voices that become abundantly clear once he actually saw the voice’s owner.

So, he supposed, it would be appropriate to advance towards the call. But he lingered, dark blue eyes closing as a vigorous uplift raced up the cliffs, filling his nostrils with cool sea scents and coating his neck with brine. It was invigorating and refreshing— clearing his mind of worries for a few prized moments. He breathed deep, deep chest expanding.

Then it was time, treasured moments fleeing with the waning zephyr, as his eyes snapped open. Turning on his heavy haunches, he began a slow and easy trot towards the Edge’s border. Though it was a long and time consuming trip, for he was at the furthest edge of the cliffs. Ah well, it was welcome exercise in the new coolness of Orangemoon. And, surely, the calling visitor would wait for his audience.

When he arrived at the source of the call, the fiery winged Nephele greeted his gaze. The mare who had chosen the Throat. And Erthe was ever present. He grinned at the filly, caught for a moment at how lanky she was becoming. No longer was she the young foal he had grown so close too— the realization sent a pang through his chest. Is this what it’s like to see one’s children grow up?

He slid the thoughts aside as he came to a halt aside the pearly, freezing filly. Thick nostrils flared slightly from his long bout of trotting, and a patch sweat darkened his silver buckskin to dark chocolate along the base of his neck. Turning his attention towards the orange-streaked woman, his low voice rolled “Hello Nephele. Helovia, and the Throat, seems to agree with you.” He smiled slightly as his eyes appreciated the musculature and sleekness to her black coat, “What brings you to the Edge?”

He paid for his sins. He was saved.

But some sins haunt us no matter how much we pay.

Eventide is softly casting o'er the earth a magic spell,

And a love-song, everlasting, on the night wind seems to swell.

The smile turned lopsided as her cheek was rewarded with equal measures of snark. It was all good-natured though, and the filly actually laughed at the thought of being whisked away like a dry leaf.

"I'm not that small" she protested with an exaggerated pout, that was ruined by the bright grin she greeted Tembovu with as he came padding to join them. "And I've already learned to fly. Iona taught me, and a few others... But only the basics, I still can't do all those fancy loops and banks."

The frown was real this time as Erthë thought of her performance in the sky. It was much harder than it looked, this flying business. Sometimes it went amazingly well, and at other times she barely got her butt off the ground. She was hampered by the damaged legs of course, because unlike everyone else she couldn't make a running start but had to find the nearest high rock or stump and start from there, but in her mind that was only a minor setback. Once she was up and away, it shouldn't make a difference whether her leg hurt or not.

It was frustrating to say the least, a good test of patience for someone who craved perfection and knowledge quickly, preferably yesterday.

"I wouldn't say no to a few lessons though, if you've got the time" she added quickly, with the glitter of growing excitement in her eyes. "It's alright if she comes in and plays, right Tembu?"

Erthë turned to the King with an expectant smile. He had never let her down before, and this was a simple request; they both knew Nephele after all, what harm could it possibly do to invite her into the forest.

Mildly surprised at the intimacy of the greeting (perhaps because she had chosen the Throat over the Edge, the most mild of slights against the Elephant), he reciprocated in kind as she extended her muzzle in greeting. Only now does he notice the freshly pierced muzzle, eyes drifting to the gold ring— so similar to the pierced muzzles of the small, southern Debwani— as his own nostrils, still flaring from his extended bout of trotting, cannot help but take in her scent: warm sands, feminine sweat, and dry heat. All things so familiar, yet so exotic upon the Amazonian mare. A grin crossed his broad muzzle as amusement laced her throaty tone, “So you did,” he agreed with her remark. He remember that she had declared her intention to visit, but few followed through once they were settled within their herdlands. “I see you’ve some new adornments. They’re fitting,” his eyes again drop to her new piercing with a lopsided grin.

At the mention of the Isles, as dark shadow crossed the King’s face, eyes following her own strangely dual-hued gaze to the pearly foal. Indeed his own wounds were minor in comparison to Erthe’s— at least the physical ones. The god-battles had affected everyone in Helovia, in some grave way. The Edge had lost a King, even; his thoughts oddly echoed the congratulatory statements Nephele voiced. Brows rise that words had travelled so quickly and so far— though matters of leadership were important for all to know.

Unable to entirely shake the shadow in his navy eyes, he nodded with a small upturn of his lips, “Your birds speak the truth. Thank you.” Though he wasn’t, himself, certain that ‘congratulations’ were right— as his regency came with the price of a daughter’s spilled lifeblood. But it was neither the time nor place for discussing such dark topics— especially as Erthe voiced that she knew how to fly.

Surprise widened his eyes, he had not known his Specter had taught her to fly. Despite the stomach-dropping fear that struck him (as flying was such a foreign idea to him; and part of him envisioned the delicate filly falling from the skies), he felt a stab of pride that she had begun using her wings. Especially given the injury to her legs.

Navy eyes warmed at the revelation, and he outright smiled. “It’s more than alright, please come past the glass, Nephele,” baritone rumbled as he took a half-step backwards, inviting her in with his massive body. The filly was right, there was very little he could deny the pearly, smiling face.

He paid for his sins. He was saved.

But some sins haunt us no matter how much we pay.