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

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

She had no dragon to guide her to this gathering, this secret club of soul-bound and blessed individuals. It was mere chance that brought her to this location, and nothing greater or lesser than jealousy that kept her tethered, frozen in place on the outskirts of the little group.

Erthë knew all of these people, loosely perhaps and from different situations, but still enough that their voices were familiar. Volterra's face had been drifting in and out of her life since before she knew his name, a constant presence in the heat of battle and - for whatever reason - a guarding shield from time to time. Ophelia was much the same. She too had been there, in the midst of the fray, like a shining beacon for a young child to watch and admire. Somehow they had ended up in the same herd, somehow she had managed to earn a smile and a helping hand from this unrelenting force of nature, favored by gods and kings alike... Isopia, well. She was more of a mystery. Their paths had crossed briefly, words had been exchanged but Erthë had been more interested in the subject at hand than in the person. Though she didn't recognize this raven form the voice was unmistakable - dry, rational, a tone that made it hard to tell whether she was being awkward, joking or intentionally rude.

It was a formidable gathering, and she felt very left out. Unbonded, younger than all of them in every way that counted, shorter too (yes, it did bother her sometimes - and most importantly, utterly unable to ever truly connect with the creatures she admired so much. From a distance she followed the dragons with a closed expression, lips uncharacteristically lacking of a smile; she breathed but with every exhale her heart cracked a little more, fractured by the weight of a loneliness she had never cared about acknowledging before.

She was not an equine. She was not worthy of such regal companionship. She, though blessed with horns and wings and cold magic, though closer to the image of a Goddess than any but perhaps Isopia (who after all, was of divine blood) would never be able to feel the kind of exalted joy that reflected upon Volterra's face as he looked at the glittering little hatchling.

Or would she? He, Volterra, had said she wouldn't be able to bond with a dragon, but if a god could be wrong then why not a mere colt, barely grown and obviously flawed in his lack of angel wings. Erthë liked him well enough, but there would always be a thorn of pity present deep within her soul whenever she gazed upon him, a sad little smile that felt him inferior for not being able to fly. It wasn't a conscious thought, nor had anyone told her such things - but it was there none the less, present though she would frown upon finding such inclinations within herself.

In any case, hope was there too, mixed and mingled with a feeling of intruding upon something that had to equal a birth in privacy. Was she close enough to the dark, snappish stallion that she could waltz up and congratulate him with the same sense of ease and belonging as Ophelia? She didn't think so, and by rights she should leave.

It was just... so unfair. Now Volterra had two dragons, and Erthë still had none. Nothing.

In her stomach a tight knot of pent up emotion formed, and as she brooded over the injustice of the world the air around her grew steadily colder, the water of the atmosphere freezing and thawing and freezing again as her newly awakened powers ran amok.

Yes. It really was too much to ask to offer a simple 'congratulations'.