The harshness of the world presses down upon us all, despite all the shields and defenses our parents attempt to construct. At a young age, the progeny of Voraer and Anei watched them die, leaving their bodies to rest in eternal embrace and consoling ourselves with the bonds of family still living. We were fortunate, for we had each other; but not all are so blessed. It was our second trial, the first being the loss of our home. Many others would follow. I had learned at a young age that life is merciless, and fleeting, and above all, temporary. But I never got used to it. For some reason, I found myself more and more in the Threshold as time went by. Still a solitary creature, I had yet to settle down; even my sister's outcast band held little appeal for me, as it seemed reluctant to mass into any sort of organization. Oh, I found it amusing, to watch my little Mirage play Queen, and I would stand behind her if she ever asked me, and even if she did not. But I was always the skeptical child, always quizzical of the actual ability of a plan to come to fruition; devil's advocate, I enjoyed playing, out of desire to see all sides of an idea, the plausibility of a venture as opposed to the ideals of it. The Qian had afforded me no true home of yet, and until it did, I would seek out other wanderers and not rest my traveler's heart. And so I was here again, weaving through the trees and picking out fresh scents. Ears rested comfortably on raised crown, breath came in slow huffs and eyes drifted through the murky light. I meandered, reflecting, calm and curious. The memories of my parents death pressed against my mind in a dull ache, and I stubbornly pushed them away, focusing on the place at hand, the time, the smells. A rough one, perhaps two - woody, heady, intriguing. It wafted through the forest like a trail, and I followed, pursuing it and seeking its source. The aroma was growing stronger; I drifted towards it, identifying two, both distinct and yet somehow intertwined. Crunch; a footstep. It was not mine. Eyes sought, a soft nicker heralded the alert of my approaching form. Two, I could now see, dark and light and steadily moving. The younger one walks ahead, impatient and searching. The older trails, age and weariness weighing her down. I stepped out of the shadows, into their view, dark gaze willing them to stop in their travels. A faint smile was offered, concern lacing my voice as I turned my eyes to the older. "You seem tired," came the observation, an eruption of alto against the heat of the atmosphere. "May I offer you rest?" I would never be the best at initiating conversation; I was rusty, I was old, I was a wanderer at heart.

For a moment his mother’s gait picks up energy. The behemoth of clouds above them boils with a great intensity, one that should lift their spirits. The rain is a touch he might savor for such a day like this, as small and tender kisses or in violent lustful rages. Perhaps to recapture his mind in the throes of nature, far from the previous road they’ve travelled for weeks. To quell his anxious spirit, shake it off like old grime and dirt and just - breathe.

This idea convulses however, breaks and draws inwards when he is finally able to detect someone approaching them. He pushes forwards with sharp eyes, standing ahead of his mother as they stop to the sound of a noise, a welcome drifting out from the shadows and heeding them. Still, no longer musical they are like fauna, so very rigid and cautious of the one who now meets them. This initial reaction is shed very easily. The one called Enapay watches the dark body, highlighted by moonlit strands and marking; there is no sign of hostile pursuit in the intensity of the mare’s gate, especially by the weight of that smile – however light – drifting forwards as though it should be a quiet sigh.

A sigh that echoes easily into both minds.

Enapay can detect her concern which seems to sharpen his intrigue. He can already feel an opposing force blooming inside of him however, irritated, prideful; the stallion that has been decorated by the scars on his left cheek does not need concern.

“Yes… yes, dear one. Rest, in body and soul I hope.” He flinches inwardly at the words that rise up, unashamed from behind him. His mother steps forwards, a warm smile graces her features as gold rimmed eyes lock onto the stranger, her voice trailing in the back of his head. Instead he glances thoughtfully towards Namid before devoting his full attention towards the mare, eyes that remain neutral and sheltered from emotion.

“We have travelled long, much like the ones who have set out before us.” If he had been embarrassed because of Namid he showed none of it. Did her words concoct a desperate pair before this mare? He could only continue to speculate, watch carefully and roll with the frank, carefree speech of his mother. She spoke truthfully at least.

“I am Enapay of the Dawn People.” Of the Abenaki; it roars inside, before continuing on. Keeping his gaze and gesturing towards his mother by briefly grazing her neck with his muzzle. “My mother, Namid.”

The atmosphere boils above our heads, threatening with humidity and disgust, angry gods of sky battling with clouds and electricity. The threat of a storm heightens my anxiety, pressing against my brain the staunch desire to rescue the older mare from the harsh embrace of whatever she was fleeing. The younger one seemed far more sure in himself, defensive pride radiating from him; I frowned at him, before my attention was redirected to the mare. Her soft words were gently cryptic, yet looking at her I sensed no guile. Was she simple, perhaps? Her eyes did not look simple. Perhaps she was just old, old in a way more worn than I. Eyes remained trained on her, gentle and compassionate. I can relate to that desire for rest, for peace.

A segment of my mind wondered at this sudden protectiveness for a mare I did not know. That the stallion was there presented less of a problem to me; he remained stoic as his mother spoke, and for the time being I decided to let him maintain his silence. "Many travel here," I acknowledged kindly. Even I had come to this place after ventures longer and further than perhaps any could imagine. Everyone came here, from lands unknown or from Isilme, a name oft whispered that Mirage spoke of with fondness. That this pair had journeyed so far was to be expected, appreciated.

Attention returned to the stallion, eyes sweeping across his form in assessment and sudden appreciation. How far had he journeyed, sickly mother in tow, trying to find some place of shelter? Had he tried to save her, or was he subjecting her to aimless traveling? Sharp eyes took in face and stance; strong, unapologetic. Somehow, caring. If family truly was what drove the chocolate stud on his journey, in his actions, perhaps he and I could understand each other.

He spoke, offering names, of both he and his mother. In the fairness of knowledge for knowledge, it would be for me to return with my own, and one more. "This is Helovia." The name of a land, of the place they had found. "And I am Rishima, of the Qian." I onyx tiara dipped in greeting, dark eyes taking in and storing away the affection shared. Two names; we were even. Yet the world did not revolve around fairness and trade; it was simply my own small desire to maintain the balance of knowledge. Besides, here I still stood at an advantage, however, for I knew this place in ways the travelers did not.

A breath was taken, then expunged, chords forming air into words. "I am not of a herdland, but a wanderer; however, you are welcome to join us, for we are as close as any herd. If you seek a true homeland, I can take you to one; for now, though, I would lead you to some shelter. The storm is close at hand, and you expressed a desire for rest, Namid." The statement was addressed to the stallion as much as the mare, for he seemed more the capable of the two. Where I would take them, I new not, although Thistle Meadow presented a possibility.

He understands their disadvantage too well. Avoiding the traps of the road to push forwards, driving towards a horizon that could not boast of an ending nor harbor any hope for the pair; what lay ahead could very well be the same repetitive nonsense Enapay had experienced before they left. She, on the other hand, found her driving force in the life surrounding them. Watching as a simple breeze spurred her forwards, as the moon and stars guided them when the days proved far too hot to travel on. The beacon, the little light that kept on pulsing for some impossible reason remained right beside him. Although he wore such pride as the base of his being, he appreciated the stranger’s sentiments for their well-being. Experience on the other hand made him cautious. The world was not so kind, its creatures many; he could not hold the mare accountable to her genuine generosity without establishing an observation beyond the surface of her person. He refused to, even if the intuition in his heart protested otherwise. Enapay would be damned to make a mistake more than twice his life time.

Words are exchanged between them, and despite what makes them, who they are, the world beyond continues to expand and stretch out like claws. Nails that hook and grab, a prick or jab, to intertwine for the time being; this must be the most civilized conversation Enapay has had for weeks.

He makes a gesture in greeting as the stranger, Rashima, unveils a small portion of the world they tread. Copying her movement, wary of the customs he has boasted inside himself to ignore their existence for the sake of continuity. Namid’s smile only stills and grows warm, her eyes are steady and become smiles themselves. She has not exacted any sort of customary bow, but it is just as easily recognized in the tone of her eyes and features.

“I have. I do not fear the great movements of the sky though. The energy is wicked however grand and moving. The road has sucked my bones dry.” She could stand the weather, her body was tough; in spirit she was tired and indeed, this mental drag had found itself nesting in her tissues. There was no longer a home for the once vivid soul. The roots of a world thriving in dreams and the magics of the elders burned with the howl of the wind. And yet, she could do nothing but wait – yes, wait and still herself. Find that quiet, and ground herself to that point.

“Perhaps you will enlighten my mother and myself of the Qian. We would appreciate the shelter; however, I fear that our naivety might cost us our lives regardless of our wits.” He steps forward. His suggestion is both vague and direct. Who were they, the Qian? And what of this world we have entered? Shall you unveil this picture of Helovia, Enapay wonders, driving his gaze narrow and sharp into her eyes; a habit that has no intention of existing. If there’s one way to ensure the safety of his mother’s life, why not chase it in its most direct path? It is merely a suggestion he hopes – demands – fulfillment as their path draws towards shelter.

He blinks once, before allowing his gaze to melt away from the mare and up towards the sky instead. Enapay can feel it in the air; it grows stale when stillness possesses the earth. It’s one of his favorite moments; just before it starts. In seconds it should be pouring, lightning spewing out from the mouth of the sky, thunder vibrating against his chest. He wants to savor it, have its stillness possess him for as long as it can hold before entering this strange world.

It’s whispering to him, telling him over and over again – just keep breathing.

Dark eyes counter his dark form; the words he spews are careful and courteous, yet spit doubt into the face of my generosity. The temptation to turn away now, to leave him and his skepticism to rot under the heat of the angry Sun and the sticky, humid storm that threatens to attack with little rain and no mercy, surges within me, and I contemplate it for a moment, just a moment, a moment where the cruelty of the sun ignites a defensive fire within my breast, and all I want to do is shout at him for his stupidity. I am all you and your mother have, Enapay. Breath wells up, eyes narrow. Eyes burn with inexplicable yet inescapable fire.

For a moment, I was angry. Then the moment passed.

Surprise inundated my soul, churning within the lobes of my mind, a cold shock of reality in the face of sudden loss of control. What happened to me, that could cause such an unwarranted outrage of fury and displeasure to well within me? A soft shake of my head, harsh and miniscule; it was all that I let them see of my concern, although turmoil raged behind onyx eyes. Gaze was cast between the two strangers; I had no wish to alienate this mother and child duo, and yet alienation seemed to be all I was capable of since I had come to Helovia. An abrupt cloak of melancholy settled upon my shoulders, caliginous sorrow clinging to me like much in the manner of sweat, unpleasant and sticky, disgusting in its permeation through my need to shake it off.

The crack of thunder echoed overhead, harsh against tender ears, reverberating against mortal bones and fragile structure, a startling reminder of the situation, the surroundings, the weakened mare of progressing age. Once more it is time to push my own discontent aside, to risk myself for the sake of some stranger. Once more, irrational fury threatens to drown all reason. Once more, I breathe deep, and it passes. Words tear into the air, just slightly too sharp, slightly too quick - not enough to stab the mind. Subtle anger, subtle concern. "Understandable. The Qian is a band of those who hold loyalty above location. My sister leads us. Is this enough?"

Attention shifts; the sky is presenting a colorful cacophony of light and noise. Generally, I would find the sight magnificent, but in light of the Sun's unrest, it offered naught but concern. The land is dry, the grass cracking; one bolt of lightning, misplaced by the hands of the gods, would send the entire forest into flames. And I had been burned enough of late. "Look." Blunt, informal; the desire to leave was no longer hidden. "The Sun God is angry; this forest is ripe to burn." It was addressed to the mare, to the child, to anyone who would listen. I would have let the youngster to his own devices, but this elder, so worn in body and soul; I could not leave her to meet her doom here.

"Your distrust is understandable, but I am all you have just now. Follow me and get to safety, or stay here and risk the storm; the choice is yours. Remember, though - I have no reason to wish you ill. I have wandered longer than you have lived, and simply offer hospitality to fellow travelers." Eyes on Namid, on Enapay, for a brief second of fiery honesty before the sweeping motions of my legs turn me, steps cracking like the electricity in the dusty, fallen needles and forsaken shrubs. Dark form disappeared and returned beneath the harsh flash of lightning, retreating towards the Dark Forest until all that could be seen was the retreating slash of a moonbeam, bright as a beacon against the dark and aged trees. I hoped they would follow, but dared not risk my hide for strangers.

[Guh sorry that took so long, I haven't had five minutes to string together >.< Also I'm basing the expected wildfires and lack of rain off the current weather changes that go with the sun god plot :3]