All around the little watered glade, the slender needles of a vast redwood army whisper softly (but on mass) in the breath of a cool northerly wind and it feeds white noise into an otherwise empty atmosphere; they - Noah and his timid angel - have seen these woods before and the realisation soon begins to infiltrate the young stallion’s conscience, like the weight of foreboding in the heart of most prey. It was not safe for them to linger, lest the demons rise once more from the ashes of history with deathly intent. He is wary as he stands there, senses swimming through the crowd of variation, with one ear trained to the darling behind; the other stretches erratically between the stranger by the stream and the mutter of movement nearby.

The sullied male is slow to respond, though he stares openly and Noah feeds the same back more charily; why doesn’t he speak? No feather blessed the stranger’s muddy flanks, naked bronze shoulders looked queer in the reddening light, and upon the skull that pointed their way, neither horn, nor branch extended. The winged had seen another so unusual similar, had felt equally bemused, and should not a young filly have come rashly upon them in that moment, he might have lead Nora well clear of that unsettling, bi-coloured glare - without bother to return.

As it were, a creature of sorts emerged from the timer first - smallish, white, and spritely as it bounded about by the child’s legs. Golden ears stretch backwards in response, unsure, for the eyes that scrutinize him have seen few others, but the harmless marsupials of his faraway island home. A sharp snort expels from tight lungs, and whiskered chin lifts well beyond the canine’s reach; one thick, rounded knee lifts into the air and afterwards drives hard, a warning thump into the earth. He cannot know that it follows the filly - the foal, who in every respect should be vulnerable and well covered by presence of a parent - though as it expresses little in the way of agitation on its alien, pointed face, the stallion withholds any further action.

For the sake of caution, his towering frame returns to the flank of the dove; vigilant lips pester the heated canvas pulled snug across her belly. Her gentle-natured heart reaches out to the child, though wariness too, drives her face out of harm’s way (he is glad). As one curious ear returns slowly to the silent male, it catches wind of sweet tones, a warm greeting put forth by his charge; but the delicate nature of her voice is quickly lost to surprisingly eloquent words of greeting. Aquamarine pools glisten with surprise, swinging towards the stranger quickly to inspect and though the rumble of response stirred in the depths of his breast, he had not the chance; for another arrives among them at the same time, giggling bizarrely all the while.

To add fuel to the fire of his bewilderment, the tiny doll addresses them peculiarly, as though she were talking about another. For the sake of his own clarity, mind wanders into the surrounding area and eyes follow slowly, confirming quickly that no others are following. Caught beneath the very unsettling, creepy glow of her grin – and all though he acknowledges her query with refocused attention – Noah struggles to answer. “N-Noah,” he reveals slowly, with a narrowing gaze and hesitant heart. Though charming, perhaps, the newest did not feel to him, to be transparent.

Noah

I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior