[url=http://helovia.net/member.php?action=profile&uid=3490]

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I stumbled through the world with an elegance unheard of, refined and quiets despite the unsteadiness of my mind and uselessness of the wings at my sides. I traveled solely by foot, only unfurling them to cross the gap between the Throat and the rest of the world. I was forever uncertain of what lay ahead, what sort of land I was headed towards when my hooves left the ground and I entered a world that held nothing but patches of condensed water and emptiness— it expanded forever in my mind, a blank body that stretched over the world, wrapped it up and consumed it entirely. Mother used to tell me the sky was beautiful, that the stars burning up in the night sky were the best she'd ever seen, that the way the light reflected on the clouds during sunset and sunrise would never cease to take her breath away. And I was to listen closely, to admire and adore the idea of the sky, to dream of witnessing the events she so cautiously described.

But it never was, and never will be, for my world is darkness, shreds of light dancing across milky eyes but nothing more— it was a hopeless thing to dream of.

I took steps away from the Throat, took time to wander through Helovia on my own, to navigate through sound, touch, smell, listening to the ocean's roaring waves grow silent as I wandered from the shore. I began making my way further inland until the sound of rustling trees overwhelmed me, birds serenading the crisp birdsong day as I venture farther. I walk with my wings wide open, brushing along the trees, snagging against the branches and pushing on. I had no purpose, no reason to go this far from the Throat, but I continue to wander.

My ears strain, listening for the sound of hooves crushing sticks beneath them, marching carelessly through the forest, ignoring the harmony of the wildlife and treading wearily past the scenery they could see. They take that gift, the blessing of having eyes that see, that can admire the world, and ignore what has been given to them. Beneath my breast, frustration takes root, bears a bud that will soon bloom. They crush the flora beneath their feet, ruin all of the flowers my mother used to tell me about, blooming everywhere the moment the snow began to melt, when the world began to rise up again after months of hibernation, blossoming anew and filled with life.

The smell hits me before the shouts do, halting to inhale deeply, to focus on the scent that lingered around my lips, that stuck out against the peace of the undergrowth like a sore thumb. It was refreshing, salty, almost more alive than the forest around me, something foreign but beautiful, if a smell could ever be such— "Hello?" Is my only response, ears sliding back at the panic and firmness, the demand echoing through the voice. I felt my body stiffen, fear nibbling away at my insecurity at the bellow, eyes wide and wings flaring outwards— they scrape along the trees, raking over branches and leaves.
“talk talk talk.”

@Kiri  --

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And there is no telling what lies before me, what secrets hide behind the mask of the stranger— what her motives are (does she seek refuge?), and I cannot read the emotions dancing across her features, or look into her eyes to pick apart her words (is she lying?). She approaches quietly, treading delicately upon the earth, my ears straining to listen to her steps. She must be smaller, lighter perhaps, but I cannot tell.  I listen to her closely, to the questions she offers me. She asks about my wings, telling me that those on her island do not have wings that function, which seems almost bizarre. What purpose for the wings then? For decoration, adornment upon a body, a sign of godliness? Of holiness? What of them?

I nod my head, allowing my wings to stretch as much as they could, until the tips brushed against trees and snagged the branches, feeling the length of my wingspan consume the clearing, rattling bushes and catching leaves. I bring them back, letting them settle upon my sides comfortable before answering her. I speak softly, a gentle hum, welcoming and careful as I pick my words. "Yes, they work. Navigation can be... difficult however." When I take to the skies, I am leaving my life, the fate of my being— in the hands of the gods themselves, in my subconscious, hoping I truly desire to live out my life fully and completely, not let myself tumble to the seas or lose myself to wild winds and false directions.

She asks more this time, and I frown, furrowing a horned brow and tossing my head to the side. "I haven't heard any large groups— I can't be of much use looking for them." I gasp at the soft steps approaching, startled by the delicacy in which the steps are taken, hooves ghosting over the earth. Her gentle voice catches my ears, head shifting to face the new woman. Manon of the Edge. "And I'm Shahrokh, of the Dragon's Throat. What island do you speak of?" I was interested in hearing where she hailed, curious to know the stories she could tell, the life she had lead before she wound up here (how did she get here anyway?). "Do you know how you got here to begin with?" We'll start with that.
“talk talk talk.”

@Kiri --

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The story the girl describes is an unfortunate one, my stomach sinking at the idea of losing your entire family without realizing, a sudden and swift punch to the gut upon the realization that you are completely alone— trapped in a foreign land you have never heard of, in a place far, far away from anything familiar to you. I furrow my brows in tandem with her tale, ears sliding back and stomach twisting at the idea. How was she so held together? Had I been in her place, I would have found myself a pitiful disaster, a sensitive body falling apart, collapsing as my world came crashing down before me. How do you go on after that?

And I stiffen then, realizing that I had lost my entire family, not so suddenly, not swept out from under me— but gradually. It was a grueling process, starting with the disappearance of my sister, I have almost forgotten her completely, but some part of me clings to the faintest memories of her in hope that some day I will see her again. And following that, my mother, Aurelia, who I have such a faint grasp of, who almost never existed to me at all but in the hushed moans of Momma on late nights when she could only sob. And then Momma herself, gone because her will to carry the burden of another life when her own was just too heavy, faded and was washed away by her sorrows— her leaving was the most painful, it was a gradual process, where she began to move away from me little by little, reject me and turn away from my needs. Then, she left— and with her went every bit of hope and love and joy in my life, every beaming smile and awe inspiring description of the world she saw. She left behind an emptiness nothing could not fill.

The sympathy washes over me, the knowing how it feels to be utterly alone, I yearn to comfort her and tell her that perhaps there is still hope for her yet— but how could I say that, when I have let go of hope long ago?

“Magic, perhaps?” It is the only plausible explanation, that she was brought here on a whim by some unseen force, by a higher power whisking her away and into a whole new world filled with a new language and culture (how terrifying). “I wouldn't know why, but I'm sure it's possible. There's surely a way to get you home.” It's all I have to offer, as far as I can go to comfort the foreign mare, because despite my desperate need for knowledge, I have little to offer. My elusiveness is paying the price, with my withdrawal from society costing me, spending a moment wishing I'd ventured out of the Throat and gathered whatever I could rather than pitying myself endlessly. I could not console this stranger any more, frustrated that I cannot offer her anything more.

I shake my head, although flattered that she believes I am some deity, it is wrong. I am far from such, no spectacular powers to showcase or vast wisdom to display for the lost woman. “No, I am not any god either. Just a boy.” A useless one at that. It would be no surprise if the foreigner chose to pursue Manon in the Edge than follow me back to the Throat. I'm nothing of a social butterfly or friendly face, nor a charmer or really anything special at all. Huh.

I clear my throat, swallowing the self pity and feelings of worthlessness (they'll come back later). “As Manon said, it is best to first start with a name before deciding what path to walk.” For there are many, and we only represent two of the infinite numbers she could choose to follow.
“talk talk talk.”