Despite the difficulty the strange calf provided, brother calf had succeeded in teaching Esinakh to fly. Well, not fly, but controlled gliding—for now. Slowly, with extreme caution that only the grullo filly could master, she had begun to further her gliding-radius. Flapping became and art form of symmetry; a regular rhythm with equal spaces between beats, set in harmony with her heart and breaths. In the beginning, she had nearly fallen from the skies because she had begun to hold her breath when it came out of rhythm with her wingbeats. Now, however, she had the hang of it… mostly.

So, with the turn of the season, she managed to venture even further from the Edge, flapping all the way to the middle of the Thistle Meadow. In fact, the half-year-old filly hadn’t even realized how far her flight had taken her, so focused was she on the evenness of her breathing, flapping, and heart beats. It was distracting, maintaining a synchronous, symmetric beat.

But, when she glanced down from her flight (to be truthful, she was not more than ten horse lengths above the ground) she realized that she was far from the Edge’s glass-spiked borders. The snow here was pristine, not marred by the hoof prints of the many herd members.

Pale eyes widen, lips parting in a slight gasp. Abruptly she dropped a few feet as her wingbeats faltered—but now it was all out of synch! She bleated once in the air in consternation, rapidly flailing her wings and holding her breath to try to get everything back in rhythm.

But she failed, instead landing in a heap of grey feathers and too-long legs. She tried to surge to her small, dark hooves long before she was ready—an instinctual move to get herself away from any dirt that might coat her skin when she fell. Instead, she succeeded only in somersaulting and ended up spread-eagle in the snow.

Luckily, this snow was newly fallen, soft, and pristine. So it not only broke her fall, but also did not coat her with filth (a much worse fate). But, still, she struggled, slightly dazed from her plunge, to a sitting position. Her right wing (the bane of her existence as those white feathers were so hard to keep clean) hurt slightly, and her feathers were all askew.

She bleated in concern, abruptly going about smoothing her feathers with her white-snip nose.

When she came across the snow-covered meadow, recognition struck her suddenly, like a bolt of lighting from a cloudless sky. “Mama,” she whispered under her breath, trotting out of the treeline and into the snow-covered brambles. We were here before.

Were not, came the response from Bee as she bounded after her mistress. Would remember these, the wolf growled, baring her teeth in irritation at the dead thistles that now embedded themselves in her thick winter coat. “No,” Areli replied aloud, in her distraction, “before you. Besides, you were born here. The burrs were just softer then.” Doubtful, the wolf shook her head. The memories of her first days were hazy, but this place didn’t smell like-- “Snow,” Areli said aloud again, reading Bee’s thoughts, “it would have covered…the scent,” she finished despondently, coming to a realization of her own. Even if Parelia had been there, there would be no trace of her mother under the blanket of snow. Her heart ached anew.
 
Call for? Bee suggested, sidling up under her wing. The pink tongue slipped from the sharp muzzle to catch the salty tears that dropped silently from her mistress’ face. Areli shrugged. She had already been calling for days, and frankly, she was worried that she may have attracted too much attention with her cries. Just days ago, a shadow had slipped away from the edge of her vision when she had turned around. She would have been convinced that the gray mare had been a ghost if she hadn’t caught a flash of the green ribbons and the hair on Bee’s back hadn’t been standing all on end. Can try. Open space safe, the wolf reminded her, hoping to minimize her mistress’ distress. “I guess,” Areli sniffled, raising her head. But before she could open her mouth, there over the treetops came a dark silhouette, flapping her way across the sky overhead.
 
Fear overtakes the pang of nostalgia that rings out in her chest—in happier times, she had once tried to fly here too. But flying never seemed to end well for her, and the younger filly was rapidly losing altitude. Areli stood frozen as the foal seemed to teeter midair, then rapidly decelerate before falling from the sky. It was only when she hit the snow with a dull thud did the girl regain her senses.
 
“Are you okay?!” Areli called, scrambling across the field to the victim’s side. The filly had taken quite a tumble, and the older girl feared that she could have injured herself. However, when she had taken her own turn at skydiving and it hadn’t ended well, a grown-up with healing magic had miraculously been on hand. Here, there was no one. 

"speech"

Sorry to crash sibling thread, but it looked like so much fun!

“Are you okay?!” The cry caused her small, barred, horned head to whip towards the source of the call. Her pallid gaze shifted from the winked, bronze pegasus mare that quickly approached her to the grey wolf at the mare’s heels. Though she had no innate fear of the toothy creature (mud was far worse), brother-calf had repeatedly (exasperatedly) explained she needed to be wary of them. However, in the face of her plumage being awry, such teachings were lost on the filly.

“Feathers wrong,” was her disconcerted reply to the question, a mottled horn-tip gesturing towards the out-of-place and few bent/broken feathers. That was much worse, to the filly, than the painfully droop of her injured right wing. But her white eyes were focusing on the other mare, sharp and strange gaze narrowing on her coloring and markings.

Her white-marked nose wrinkled slightly, pale eyes dizzyingly darting between the many dapples on the mare’s silver-smoke body. “You have dots,” she finally bleated as she awkwardly rose out of her sitting position, “Esi fix.” Then her small muzzle stretched out for the dapples on the mare’s shoulder, lips already wiggling in her reach as she aimed to attempt to scrub off the uneven, asymmetrical dots.

Her ears swiveled around forever in motion, as she shuffled forward. Her slowly growing tail of mixture of greys, whites, and blacks twitched as pain pulsed from her limp right wing—but there were more important things to attend to for the little calf. These dapples needs to be fixed posthaste. A little clay welled along her spine as her magic reacted to the excitement of cleaning another.

 “Feathers wrong,” came the reply, and Areli’s heart sank as she followed the distraught gaze to the drooping wing. “Where?” she asked, trying not to panic as she surveyed the empty field. “Which part hurts?” Oh gods, oh gods…desperately, she tried to remember what that grown-up had asked her when she’d washed up on the beach after dropping like a rock from the cliffs at the Endless Blue, but all that came to mind were memories of the water’s roar in her ears and that horrible colt who’d nearly drowned her in the first place. Think, Are, think!
 
However, the dark filly was already struggling upwards on her own, and while she looked dazed, she did not appear to have injured herself badly enough to stay put. “You have dots,” she commented, tottering towards the older girl. As if only just realizing it, Areli glanced down at herself, following the filly’s intense stare. “Dots?” she asked as she looked up once more, wondering if the smaller girl was referring to the stray burrs that clung to her coat in this field, or if the glowing golden dapples had attracted her attention. Have dots too, Bee sulked, chewing a thistle from her sand-colored paw. After they had gone charging across the meadow, she had plenty of burrs to contend with. More concerned with the wounded filly, Areli ignored her and focused on watching the wobbly walk for signs of a limp. Not that she knew what to do, but still…first things first, she reminded herself with a shaky breath. If she had to go for help, she would need to know the extent of the damage.
 
However, the filly seemed more concerned with her. “Esi fix,” she squeaked, hobbling towards her with her tiny brow furrowed in determination. The tiny muzzle reached out to prod at a dapple. Areli relaxed slightly and giggled at the feeling of the baby whiskers against her hide. “They’ve always glowed like that,” she told her, raising a wing to reveal the rest of the markings that spotted her flanks, “so…are you sure you don't need fixing up? I could go for help,” she offered earnestly.

"speech"

The older, winged girl allowed Esi’s wriggling nose to contact her softly glowing skin, white-snip muzzle moving in earnest in an attempt to scrub off the dapples—or, at least, scrub away the mismatching ones. (Though, had the girl not allowed Esi this attempt at cleaning, the bull-horned calf likely would have tried to chase her around the meadow, limp wing flailing at her side.)

Delight lit up her concerned pale gaze, as she moved from spot to spot—though it began to dim in frustration as the dots simply glowed, rather than disappeared beneath her diligent ministrations. ’They’ve always glowed like that.’ Mottled horns tilt slightly as a short, indignant snort left the filly’s nostrils, “Always? Not come off?” Her white-and-grey rimmed ears tilted back in annoyance as her blanched stare narrowed at the stubborn dapples, “Esi no fix?” Her soft, young voice held a mixture of irritation and sadness—she couldn’t even out these dapples for the silver-smoke filly?

She stomped a small, grey fore-hoof in discontent, wincing as it jostled her injured, limp wing. Her sad gaze left the dapples, slowly floating to the grey wolf as it began to chew burrs out of its paw—burrs! Pale eyes alit with a new purpose, “Esi fix this!” And she eagerly jumped towards the pouting wolf, muzzle outstretched and prepared to removed the many burrs in the cub’s thick, grey coat.

Her tail flicked dismissively at the question about her health; the filly had much more important things to attend to than her limp wing. “Esi fine! Who you?” Her abrupt question was accompanied with a dart of her white eyes towards the silver-smoke filly, before she attempted to clean another. Slowly, clay began to slip down her spine, along her flank. Her grey skin twitched in irritation—though she tried to ignore her offensively dirty magic.

 
While a shadow of doubt still lingered in the older girl’s expression, she decided to let the matter rest. She could not do much about the filly’s (Esi’s?) wing out here, and if the younger girl was betraying no sign of pain, then perhaps she would be fine. Areli knew that if it had been her, she would have surely been crying and carrying on after such a tumble—in fact, that was exactly what she’d done after her unfortunate plunge into the sea that awful time at the Endless Blue. But not a tear escaped Esi’s eyes, nor a sniffle her still-wriggling muzzle, and so Areli traded full-blown worry for a gentler sisterly concern.
 
“No,” she replied then, faintly amused at the filly’s efforts to even her mottled coat. “Though I guess I’ve never exactly tried to get rid of them. They’re rather nice at night, when it’s dark,” she went on, turning to look at them fondly. The dapples had been her earliest night-light, and in fact she found it quite comforting to fall asleep under their warm glow. “I—!“
 
But she never finished the thought, for Bee was yelping as the filly lunged at her, thrown off balance from her preoccupation with the burred paw. The sand-colored pup tumbled to the ground and Esi descended upon her, the furious dark muzzle already working at the thistles along the wolf’s belly. Bee struggled momentarily, thrashing about in the snow, but once the young girl had worked the first burr free, the realization dawned upon her that she should take advantage of the helpful stranger. Initially startled by the commotion, Areli resettled flared wings upon her back and merely rolled her eyes at the pup. More help than you, Bee shot back at her, hind paw waving happily in the air. Areli ignored her.
 
“I’m Areli,” she said, turning back to the younger girl. “I live—well, I’m going back to, anyway—the Hidden Falls. I’ve been looking for my mother,” she explained, doing her best not to openly eye the mud that seemed to be oozing from Esi’s spine. If Parelia had been there, she would have told her to mind her manners.


"speech"