How long had it been?

Mirage had lost count of the seasons since she had last seen her beloved young friend, the filly who had stuck so closely to her side as she roamed the wilds, led the Qian, and reminded her so blissfully of a child she was yet to bear herself. Brothers of shadow and flame had told her of Aylin's frolicks across the Foothills, but even they had not seen the little creature for some time. The last Mirage had been told, her parents were staying in the Foothills, protecting Aylin and her brother from the dangers of the wilds. Mirage had agreed with the notion, but their absence from even the Foothills did cause her some concern. What more could she do, aside from search throughout all of Helovia for the dark, white outlined form of the moonlit unicorn?

So when the delicate mists carried a whisper, a hint, a forgotten memory of a voice caressing the winds, to the ears of the Leader, she stopped the motion she was making, lips dripping with water that did not make it down her throat, and looked very alertly to the area she hoped contain the treasure that had been lost. Breaths were paused, forgotten, unneeded, at least for several moments. A mental brush from her beloved woke her from her reveries, Akaith sung a draconic song of welcome mingled with a light, playful admonishment. The little dragon took wing, not waiting for her bonded to wake from the stillness that had captured her limbs, wheeling her way through the canopy to burst from the leaves above where the now young mare stood, so slender but strong.

The little shadow was not far behind, delicate steps dancing their way through lean timbers, neat hooves easily clearing any fallen trees that tried to hinder her path, svelte ears twisting and turning atop her tiara as her serpentine nape curled and bent to bring her bodice closer to the border. "Aylin," her voice hummed, whispered, replied to what she hoped was real just beyond the turn. Akaith was chortling, dancing in the air above something, someone - it was her. Golden eyes beheld her, and the mare lost all pretences of indifference that she usually held. There was no hesitation, no question; only a smooth and gentle embrace, a welcoming hum swelling up in her chest, as she angled her tiara to drape over the young mare's own, so that between her chin and her chest she might cling to her, feel her flesh and test that she was truly real, and here, returned to her.