Your heart beats a quick step, obstinate in its fear. Even knowing the danger was made up, a dream, your body holds tight to its consequences. Adrenaline thrums like a storm through your blood; you all but vibrate with it, your dark eyes searching this strange new part of the world with vigor. And because every chemical process in you still expects danger, you find it. "Why did you bother leaving your mother if you're only going to cry for her?" She's just a sound, at first. You still flinch in response, everything attached to that rabbiting heart of yours wheeling in the direction of her noise. And it all speeds up, muscle begging run, before your eyes land on skin colored like stone and the three crooked horns pushing like wrought iron bars from the bone of her face. And something in you quiets; the fear subsides. She might be ugly as sin, but she's vaguely home in the way you have come to name unicorns. You stare for longer than you ought as your pulse subsides, wings bristling in surprise just off your shoulders.

You notice the bundle of feathers, of course.

It begs to be noticed, anyway, perched there on her withers like some poor man's attempt at wings. And it's exactly what you're looking for, only this one is taken, too. Your ears come forward with a quick snap. "Where —" you say at the same time someone else says something else, and bewildered you turn to face the new voice, your eyes bulging as if she's materialized from thin air rather than from a blind spot in your perception (you really need to work on that).

She says a lot, actually. You catch that her name is Gemini, though you're not sure what to do with it. You're too busy staring at her wings, at her bare head, and musing over the differences between the two girls this new land has so hastily thrown at you. You've yet to find anyone else quite like you, and now confronted with this winged girl, you feel yet more confusion sown along the rivets of your brain. "You've wings," you declare obviously, forgetting the first girl's companion for a moment. Flexing your own as if to declare the similarity, you take a step toward her, and all your features contort into a thinking frown. Had she just asked you something?

She had. She wants your name.

Maybe you don't realize this (certainly she cannot know it), but you've given almost none of your recent acquaintances this information. Until recently, you weren't quite up to spilling it. Now, you're a bit confused as to why she'd just come out and ask for it while you still don't know each other, but you don't see the harm in offering. "Virga," short, almost dismissive. "It's not my first time away from home!" you declare a little more loudly, remembering that bit. "I'm looking for something." And abruptly you remember the other girl's bird, and your head snaps to it with an almost audible crack of tendon. "Like that!"