Roaming eyes could search all they liked; it was unlikely they would settle upon the shimmering, fuzzy image of the little shadow that stalked the Threshold. A golden ray of sunlight – or was it a dragon? – filtered through the canopy above, darting this way and that. It was indeed a dragon, a queenly one at that, golden as the sun’s surface, glittering brighter than a sparkling crystal. The creature was bonded to the shadow-mare, by a link than ran deeper than even the ties blood could offer, a bond that combined their very souls and minds.

The rushed movements of the Pegasus were noticed, particularly by the dragon, who created a colourful trilling song as she flew above the crème mare’s flowing movements. Similar motions were made, a little ways away, by a dark smudge of a mare, it was difficult to know however – if one did manage to focus upon it for more than a second, they might think it was merely a trick of the sun’s heat, and continue on with their life. But it was a living, breathing creature who orchestrated this magic, this magic that defined her, just as her bond with her dragon did.

A smooth melody was hummed from the maw of the mistress, as she crept closer to the winged femme. The shimmering veil fell away from her, and as she approached it was as if she were pulling herself directly from the shadows of the surrounding forest. The Threshold was a comfortable realm, for this mare enjoyed forests, but it was too close to the outskirts, too near to the part where Helovia became undefined and the wilds of the outside world more dominant over one’s existence. Warm, honey-gold eyes peered out from beneath silken tendrils of the charred mare’s forelock, a kind gaze held within them, though very little else was expressed by this devious little mare.

“You run, when you could fly.” The mare’s accented tones stated, merely observing the obvious, perhaps hinting at the slight curiosity she held within. She was standing still now, having approached the belle by first matching her pace several lengths away from her, and then coming to a smooth halt; hoping the other would comply to the silent wish for their cessation of momentum. Akaith glided upon light wings, landing much like the Pegasus had landed before, with and easy grace, upon the obsidian hide of her bonded.

“What brings you to Helovia?” The question was posed politely enough, a whisper of a smile hinting at the corner of her lips. The mare’s gaze roamed over the winged one, absorbing the draconic wing design, the creamy features, the delicate poise with which the other held herself. The belle was a beauty, even Mirage could observe that, at least on the outside. It would be her response to Mirage’s intrusion that decided just how deep that beauty ran.