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He came, in all his masculine, golden glory. He came, and Cirrus watched from her position in the snows and drifts, as he embraced the wind beneath his wings and descended from the heights he was surely born to ride. She watched him, her eyes never leaving his magnificent form - she admired him properly now, less distracted by the guilt, the broken-ness that was before - Cirrus had grown, she had changed, and even in the simple approach he made, she could see something had changed within him too.

She prayed the passion, the fire, the storm within him hadn't died down. She prayed her wayward ways hadn't damaged him, ruined him, for she recalled his tales of heartbreak and torture, of abandonment and regret - and she recalled with hope, the story of how he had pledged to his sister's memory to keep on loving anyway.

She hoped the change she saw in him was not the loss of that part of him.

Cirrus, his deep tones rumbled as he approached. Little ears pricked attentively upon her crown, pressing forward with high hopes of hearing more from him - Cirrus only ever desired more, she wondered when enough would be enough (and whether 'enough' was indeed ever a permanent thing, for her life so far had never experienced it). He spoke a question then, and her heart, which had been leaping about haphazardly in her chest, threatened to sink, for the distance he maintained between them hurt, it stung, and the broken Cirrus before would have beaten herself up over it, would have admonished and blamed and said you deserve to feel that way.

But Cirrus no longer thought that way - a small frown pursed her brow, and she pressed herself forward through the snowdrifts, closing the distance between them with a few deftly placed strides. She reached out, smiling as her eyes fell upon the feather that was strung up in his mane, aiming to lip at the pale strands that fell over his strong, thick neck, breathing deeply the musk that his presence carried - hoping, praying that he wouldn't pull away from her.

"I seek a home," she said at last, a quiet hum, a gentle song, a solemn promise, a desperate prayer. Her words were all these things and more, for in them, she asked him a question that she didn't have the courage to voice. Home is where the heart is, and I want to know if I have found mine.

The interruption that occurred was probably a good one - the foal who arrived reminded her of herself, with a rambunctiousness that she had grown out of (most days), an energy and a kindness undeniable. Cirrus had to look twice at him, for there was something familiar about him - if she had a perfect memory, she might have recognised the pale and striped legs, the similarly stained mane and tail, even the horn, as reminiscent of a friend of her father's, a mare who had even attended her birth upon the sandy shores of the Endless Blue.

But Cirrus' memory was fallible, it was not perfect, and so the colt's appearance was merely a niggling reminder, one easily overlooked and simply accepted.

She was surprised when he spoke of a compass, and when he showed it to them she leaned her tiara down to investigate it. It was an intriguing object - leading the foal to wherever a creature may need help. The entire idea of it smelt like the Earth God - and Cirrus, having endured one of the Lord's trials, thought herself a bit of an expert on all things relating to him.

"I'm Cirrus," she offered to the foal with a kindness softening her face. He was a fidget, the energy that raced around within him seemed to be busting at the seams. "If the good Czar Kaj would have me, I'd like to join the Falls," she explained, wondering at exactly what 'help' this foal could give on the matter - but then she had a moment of clarity, a realisation, a revelation. The Earth God had sent her here, just as he had sent this colt to her, surely it meant something.

Cirrus was not one to live without a purpose, a goal. For so long, she had done just that, and found herself living a half-life, a meaningless motion of breathing and eating and drinking and nothing else; but now, here she was seeking out a purpose again, a path, a direction. She was a well-honed warrior, a creature of war and bloodshed; the spear hiding amongst her feathers had even come close to drawing blood from the great golden lord beside her. But had she gone through that entire lesson, that trial, that test, and she had only just passed it - she bore a crown upon her head to show it - to gain the power to heal and mend.

She was a warrior blessed with the strength to destroy but the power to heal.

"I need help," she spoke the words even as she realised their truth. "I.. don't know what path to take. To heal or to defend the lands?"