The boy’s on a precipice, looking down below from where the waves crash against the island cliff side; blind to the reflection that is distorted in the waters, and blotted by the dying hues of sun. The hollowness that threatens his being, is struggling to sacrifice itself to his God. He’s hardly seen the world anything but beautiful and amazing, full of adventurous tales and legends. But the loss of the boy’s singular source for love has shriveled, and began to distort his view of that precious vibrancy surrounding him in the dessert islands.

And he hated it. He burned with the thought that he wasn’t good enough to be kept around. That he was not only without a mother, but that a father he had never met – refused to enter into his life. Wherever that father may be.

Saoirse moved back from the cliff edge, giving his runway ample space for his wings to lift him. He eyed the edge with a steady gaze, before sprinting full force – wings a flare, whole and sprawling as his limbs kicked the sand into the ocean.

The boy’s heart raced, it pounded heavily against his head as he fought against the opposite pulls of the ocean. Fear tickled at his hooves, and filled that space in his heart with what he needed. He fought hard until he escaped the pressures of the wind that appeared momentarily ferocious near the coast he’d cast off. Feeling weak and pitiful that the struggle had nearly taken everything out of him, not that there was much he could offer.

The figure of the noble foal arrives as Saoirse glides across the remaining distance. Heavy breaths precede his presence, as he lilts like a belligerent leaf falling from its tree stem. Stumbling into the beach a ways away from the one who stands with wanting eyes – regarding his home like a hungry, familiar thief.

Saoirse shivers with his efforts. Sucking in the air and frowning, wondering if he’d just been unlucky with the ruthless winds. On the mainland the weather is sublime, the setting sun – silhouettes the youthful stranger in a nearly ethereal glory. Though the warmth, and the softness of the sun doesn’t seem to invoke much life against its copper canvass.

He starts towards the other boy, unfamiliar of those severe eyes, and the whimsical strands that crown his head. His chest is still heaving, his mind is still buzzing in a cocktail of fear and adrenaline, and all together relief.

“Hey there!” He offers a large half smile, landing his mug in an amused sort of way. Soairse realizes he should be laughing at himself now, for all the effort and disgrace he carries from his homeland.

He makes to stand beside him, and lifts his gaze to regard the Throat. Home - Saoirse whispers within his mind, “It’s pretty from this view isn’t it?”

Even if the color is slowly being replaced with something else in his heart, the view still sends a rather homely, longing pulse of times once gone by. Untainted, uncharted in all of its glorious mysteries, and perhaps… he still had reason to hold on to something.