The vast Helovia canvas was drenched in the dark hues of night, the bright sun having sunk behind the western horizon long ago. The full moon shone from high in the star-sprinkled cloudless sky, bathing the bi-chrome Pegasus and his celestial blue roan guide in pale silvery light. An icy breeze caressed the stallion’s body, sending chills down his spine. Ebony locks brushed passed his eyes and whipped behind his back as the wind picked up its pace. Massive peregrine falcon appendages, outspread to their full wingspan, beat in a steady rhythm to mimic the strong air currents and push the winged beast closer to the winged damsel back-lit by the glowing orb in the sky.

The trees below that once were so dense not even a sliver of shining light could seep through their canopies seemed to be thinning out drastically since the beginning of their journey to the land that the star-clad femme called home. Drachen devoured all of the details of the land from his sky view, burning the various landmarks into his mind for later on. His battle-trained eyes skillfully skimmed the Helovian realm, absorbing the strange beauty in the scene below. A winding forked river shimmered like thousands of tiny iridescent crystals. The large boughs of ancient trees shivered from the harsh wind that plagued their bare woodland. The mountainous snow capped cliffs that stretched far above the leafless canopy were only a mere white smudge below the dark horizon. It was breathtaking. Bewitching. Divine. It filled the winged stallion with awe and left him speechless.

Drac suddenly pitied any creature that couldn’t view the world from above or feel the wonderful feeling he always got when he was in flight. To be grounded to the land would be revolting. How could one not want to spread his wings and take to the air? Becoming one with the winged creatures and view the world like they saw it? Entirely and completely feeling free from the earthly bounds that claim the flightless? Losing one’s wings would be like losing one’s freedom.

The thick forests soon turned into grassy meadows, and the grassy meadows into the dry clay of the dessert. He could sense the Oracle beside him slowing down. Drac followed suit, pinning his unusually large appendages to his sides and rocketing towards the red dessert below like a torpedo. The strong wind buffeted his body and stung his eyes; his long tail flapping behind him in obsidian tendrils and leaving him with the familiar feeling of his stomach plummeting to the ground.

The dessert floor came rushing toward the bi-colored Pegasus closer than he expected. The world flashed passed him like a blur, making it hard for him to comprehend when to stop his free fall. It didn’t help that it was nearly pitch black, aside from the silver orb that emitted a ghastly glow. Two massive sails unfurled from his sides, slicing through the blacked sky. Drachen immediately winced and cursed mentally, his wing muscles pulling back from the harsh air resistance they were met with. It felt to the brute that his wings were pulled from their sockets which, he realized, they probably were.

Casting a quick glance down, Drac could see the ground coming to meet him at any moment. Fear flickered in the winged stallion’s eyes and he froze for a moment before commonsense kicked in. He beat his wings twice, using all of his strength just to move the strained appendages. Hooves hit the dessert clay, his entire being shaking from the shattering force, before he strode off at a canter to stop his knees from buckling. Once the throbbing in his hooves ceased, the brute slowed his gait. Turning around, he neck to look above, waiting for the blue fae, tender wings held loosely against his flanks.

trust your heart if the seas catch fire To proclaim that the star breather pitied those who lacked wings would be dishonest. She too had once had a similar mindset, perhaps not quite as long ago as one might expect. Cassiopeia did not pity the equines or unicorns for their biological dearth of the appendages, just as she did not expect or desire to be pitied for her privation of a horn or for those void of either to pity her for having any such protrusions at all. She did not gaze upon the wingless masses and notice only their apterous slopes, just as she did not commiserate those incapable of flight. The appropriateness of pity was more accurately determined once the content of one's character had been unveiled, she had decided. Most often then not, horns, wings and hooves made no difference. Existing within all the races where those of lesser refinement, those whose hearts were blackened by the polluting smut of hatred and callousness. Cassiopeia herself was not of pure blood. Her leonine tail gave no truer of indication of this - it suggested there were traces of unicorn heritage lingering somewhere within her blood stream, though it made little difference to her. To say that she did not cherish her wings, however, would also be dishonest, and to say that she was not proud of her winged blood would be likewise vacuous of honesty. She would miss the exhilaration of flight were she ever to be barred from utilizing her wings and it would be a waste of a blessing should one not treasure their racial endowments. Meanwhile, amidst her idle ponderings, Cassiopeia would sometimes point out significant landmarks to Drachen and associate names with specific regions, such as the Thistle Meadow. They had alighted there to rest their wings, for the journey to the Dragon's Throat was not a swift journey. Cassiopeia had even rested her eyes for a short time before they had returned to their travels the following morning. The soot and carbon produced by the licking flames raging within the heart of Helovia towered high and made for quite a spectacle. Still, the roaned mistress did not stop. Her destination lay onward, her home defined by distant cliffs and russet rock and only a very small glimpse of the ocean beyond could be discerned in the distance, proceeded first by a vast expanses of glittering, amber sand. Even when she had arrived at what was, technically, the Dragon's Throat, she pushed onward, headed toward the Oasis, which hadn't yet entered her line of vision. They were soaring over the whimsical formations of stone to the north of the desert, when the deep indigo of the atmosphere gradually took on a more dulcet shade. Moonlight still bathed her physique in a eerie, yet alluring glow. Soon enough, they had arrived. After nearly three days of flying, with the occasional rest and Cassiopeia's melodic voice often quenching Drachen's thirst for knowledge about the land, they had at last made it. The pregnant mare had all but forgotten her condition, and even so, she had made sure not to push herself too far. She hadn't been too far along, regardless. She was surprised that he had decided to descend before she - impatience, she supposed, or perhaps just a restless desire to see his home after such a long journey. Upon alighting somewhere just outside the Oasis, they could easily finish the trip on hoof. She was surprised by Drachen's lack of grace in landing, though she paid it little heed. She too hit the ground at a canter, coming up beside the two-toned stallion. "The Oasis is not far." She averred, motioning her head in its direction before pivoting toward it. The sun slowly peaked past the horizon in the east, filling the midnight black with a colorful array. Upon nearing the Oasis lake, she tipped her charred muzzle to the rising sun, whinnying an ushering call toward her lover, toward her leader - to anyone who might hear her. She then delicately folded her wings, casting Drachen a look of cordiality. "Welcome to the Dragon's Throat." She ruffled her feathers as they rested atop her back, adding a short, consenting phrase before lowering her maw to the lake's surface and providing herself with a drink. "Make yourself at home, my friend." [ ooc ; This thread is technically taking place in Orangemoon, while Cassiopeia is still in the early stages of pregnancy and after being attacked at the Endless Blue. ]