yael

It seems their task could not be completed without a requisite amount of drama; why adults could not simply perform a job dutifully amazes her. Both groups of bone-collectors were more focused on personal grievances, quipping snidely - or screaming - rather than turning their energy to other things. Doubt, too, grew in her mind about what the bones were to be used for. It was a peculiar request. The flesh was long stripped from bones, the fragments scattered to the winds and carried otherwhere by time, tide, and traipsing paws.

It was time for a break. After delivering her second bundle to Keesamoa, the black-tipped pegasus takes to the air again, driving herself away from the areas they are cleansing, and towards the budding forest. If asked, she would not be able to say what brought her back to the site of her traumatic entry; her heart wounds still oozed - the memories were still too fresh. Gaping. Raw. Well-hidden.

Only recently had Yael seen the full force of Xelovia out and out, heard the chatter of multiple tongues, and it wasn’t until she returned to the Threshold that it occurred to her that many of them must be transplants like herself. Upon landing on the westernmost edge, she found herself wondering about the others that passed down the same trail as she; hoping, mostly, that they came here on more fortunate tides. Yael’s mysterious tumble from one place to the next left her with many questions, and no one who could answer them. No mortal someone, she privately (occasionally) thought. And there are still moments of panic, but they are becoming less and less, the wild lost-ness falling from a clenched jaw and hopeless eyes. The little foreigner may not have a purpose yet, but she is making tangible progress. And all the while, her hooves take her down a flat, but mossy trail - clearly worn down over time, but not used often enough to chip away at the soft covering. It might muffle sound of her steps, but she is a gilded lady, and the leaves are still buds, which offers many holes for the sunlight to fall through and shine off her skin.

A different smell, and then the faintest sound of a voice in an otherwise bird-infested forest catch her attention, and so Yael ever so slightly increases her pace. The path clears out ahead of her, and with it, come a pair of horses. Ever the friendly one, the aurelian woman calls out to the two, perhaps in syllables that sound vaguely familiar to their ears. “Shalom!” And then, when she is closer, “You look… unsure? Perxaps I can xelp?”

She hasn’t anything else to do, after all. Except gather bones.