In that moment, as more are drawn in by the spectacle of pretty lights in the blackness (they quickly fill each remaining gap in the half-circle of bodies), insecurity’s merciless teeth sink with mischievous intent into the fragility of his newly formed confidence, his throbbing sense of masculinity; it whispers wickedly against that bond freshly forged, which he would guard with all of the fury a mother might her babe. The dove lies a warm cheek against the hot, bristling contour of his throat, and the crest above rises into proud arch beneath a rippling cascade of long flaxen mane; simultaneously, one wing slips free, rising above the shy darling like a dim, feathered awning in the night, the other peels away from the steamy flank below and flares sidewards ever so slightly (to enhance his breadth).

All the while, he watches the tiny, chirping, alien-equids, with a carefully curious eye, marvelling too at the enormous manner of their transport - the curved surface at it’s top glistened, like a dulled version of the winking water lapping around its feet. Despite the darkness, Noah is able to discern the shift of each face as one question rises from the group surrounding, and then another. There is little reason for him to direct one of his own - though he was entirely lost for words regardless, and was contented enough to rest in quiet shadow with Nora; though they appeared rather amicable, he had witnessed enough skewed personalities in Helovia to maintain vigilance. Betraying not whether they understood the tongue of the land upon which they’d arrived, the queer, ill-constructed creatures simply blinked their many eyes in response.

Somewhere ahead, a glittering threesome of winged insects - butterflies - briefly distracted his focus.

At last one of the four step slightly from the gentle glow of their huddle, and coughs (perhaps, it was a strange sound). Golden ears snap forward to listen as a chorus of muffled encouragement follows the  greeting offered, and breath snags in his throat when the little being reveals the meaning of their arrival; at the same time his jawline jerks, before an incredulous glance sways by the dove at his side. As the solo visitor proceeds to request information about the various regions of Helovia and one of the many gathered volunteers the first sample, Noah finds himself intrigued; for his knowledge of this immeasurable countryside is very limited.

The butterflies still flutter in place, and a voice lifts as though from their position; it is feminine, as delicate as brittle dawn light, and it describes the different races of this land. Another ignites, sweet and girlish, though equally bold and inspired. It speaks of a place called Dragon’s Throat, and thought can’t help but sweep back to the recent hours, perhaps days, spent in the molten belly of the earth - this easily could have been such a dragon. However that which the child details, creates a far lovelier visualisation than the murky, stagnant, stone-walled cave they had bedded in - perfect indeed. The brilliant note of the voice tapers and another sings forth, delivering words that strike a chord, for he has learned already about World’s Edge. It is hard to find the source through the gloom, the countless heads within it, but he is sure enough that it isn’t Amaris (the ferocious-looking woman who he feels strangely drawn to).

Others follow with further information about the southern desert (they seem to represent a proud, confident kin), and Noah waits in curious, pensive silence until the last (he feels), has spoken. Though he stands behind others, there is little reason to lift his voice terribly, for the night around them seems empty; the silver and gold draws a breath and his sides heave with deliberation. "I’m Noah. Nora and I come from the north, Aurora Basin they call it…" There are few positive experiences for him to draw upon so his pause to consider is brief. "It’s colder than everywhere else we’ve been. It's surrounded by dreadful, impassable mountains - the wind around their peaks is savage for those of us who fly... Horses live in caves… And there is an over-population of horns." A shrug rolls through his shoulders, displacing the elevated wing for only a second.

"But she likes it…" thoughtfully he smiles as his eyes gesture through dimness, over to the dove.

Noah

I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior

His ears flatten at the filly's assertion that the Throat is still ruled by the strongest man in Helovia, although the young stallion senses that now is not the ideal time to engage in a battle of my-dad's better-than-your-dad. The aliens are speaking again, and they appear unimpressed by the tidbits offered up by the gathered horses. Arakh frowns, wondering what on earth they could want to hear if not the pure facts of the realm.

At the alien's question about why they live in herds, Arakh tilts his bull-horned head in surprise. How could these odd beasts not live in herds? "Herds good for company, for sharing food sources, and for helping fight against predators. Lone horse easy prey - group of horses not." His factual response is uttered quickly, never averting his eyes from the aliens. "Herd usually chosen because family or friends live there. Arakh born in Edge, but move to Throat to be with brothers and sisters. Arakh often miss Edge, but happy in Throat with family. Family more important than stone and soil." The bull is not the best at articulating himself given his gruff, heavily accented voice, but he's rather pleased with how he's managed to get across the deep pain in his soul when he thinks of the Edge and his mother's corpse, yet at the same time how much he adores every day upon the golden Throat sands.

"Reality is no herd better than another herd, but each one favoured by different horses. If qemmemmo rhoa want to choose herd to live in, better to see in person. Arakh and other horses can't make proper picture of each land." It's his somewhat stunted, long-winded way of saying that no amount of talking or factual information will match the sheer joy of experiencing the herds themselves.

Arakh

YOU SHOULD HAVE LEARNED BY NOW
I'LL BURN THIS WHOLE WORLD DOWN

Taken aback a little by the forward nature of their curiosity, Noah can’t help but stand and stare, peering expressionlessly down between heads, at the illuminated ‘guests’ of Helovia, while others around him set quickly their tongues to work; he is confronted, possibly more so by his own startling inability to answer, than anything else.

Aurora Basin, as he mentioned, has done little thus far to woo his young heart, and certainly the ties of his loyalty are loose knots unravelling fast. The first (and easily most lasting), impression of the cold northern valley, was that ‘they’ were presumptuous, without much compassion, pushy, and horned; two among that initial crowd had been less of those things, but with no diluting follow up in the days succeeding, and nothing more pleasant to sweeten the sour taste left behind, the foul opinion had been let to fester and decay, like infection.

For a long time her stews.

Voices turn around him in the quiet of the starless night like tides beneath the moon, but Noah nary hears the stories they unveil. He is lost in the ocean of dilemma, the murky whirlpool of confusion, with the wailing wind of self-discovery driving down against it all. Why do you live in the Basin? His churning mind echoes the question boldly, inquisitorially, and what is it, that bonds you to them? It is then, unexpectedly, with the warmth of his dove pressed in close, that the shrill excitement of his inner voice airs, it reveals a very obvious revelation: he is not tied to anything, at all.

It is to Nora that his heart is tethered, and it is for her – for her comfort in cooler climates, her delight in crevices and caves, and her preference towards the sweeter flora therein – that he bides time in the Basin.

Though he’d touched on it lightly the first time he’d spoken, the level of his care, of his love, was clearly without end.

"What binds me?" He begins with an almost booming, benevolent tone, for he feels all at once empowered, like the world around him grows lighter, brighter, and he closes his eyes as the picture of their passion reignites in illusion before him.

"I found a dove once, battered, sprawled wounded on the earth – did you know that birds hide their ailment until their dying breath? Beneath a shield of muddied feather, travel-worn and torn, was hidden bony-angles upon her frame, that were sharp as a tiger’s…

Well, as sharp as the sight of a hawk.

There was fear pooling, festering in the quiet of her angelic eyes, and my heart ached for the grimness of her plight; it bled pitifully, uselessly. I’ve grown to believe that the dove is a symbol of peace and hope – how one could find such foulness in their soul to destroy one is beyond me…

So helpless was she, vulnerable (for a murder of beady-eyed crows did stand vigil), that I pledged myself to her in those moments, a personal guardian, until the day she’d bid me away. I couldn't leave her there alone to fade, and for that, I’m ever thankful. There is beauty there, beneath the ugly face of suffering, and perfectly beautiful minds lurk beneath the frays of despair – she opened my eyes. The dove improved with care and kindness, patience, and to be frank, I became quickly smitten.

How could one so entirely lovely, not pluck the strings of a liable heart?

Now her surface is smooth and so graceful; exquisite like dew on the petal of a rose, and just as fragrant. She speaks and it is like the sweet sound of spring rain after the dry-spell of winter. Endearing, refreshing, is the blood that pulses through her veins – and she stays with me still, though she is fit now to fly.

I love Nora. She is bound to every single beat of my heart and if it is Aurora Basin that brings her comfort, then that for me, is the nearest thing to home."

And then his heart shrinks a little, for all that was now public - revealed to the crowd of strangers with pounding, throbbing conviction - he knows well, has been lost in translation between them; he and his darling dove.

Noah

I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior