A call, a summons from the border rolls across the land, dancing along the thick, obscure misty walls that decorate the realm, delivering the urgent notes to my delicate, svelte lobes, that twist and turn atop my chiselled tiara, dissecting and discerning the meaning behind them. There is more than one call, the first, made by a deeper, mature soul, the second, a younger, pained soul. A frown causes my brow to crinkle in thought, and swiftly I am spurred into action, limber legs folding and unfolding, swallowing the land in gracious steps.

I come to a halt before the duo, the mother and son. The resemblance between them gives it away, I do not need to seek the mists' counsel to see that much. But there is something of their reason, their purpose for arriving here, that leaves me with a gentle, subtle query upon my façade as I face them. Pale smudges of dapples shimmered against my hide as the mists that swirl about my feet settle and clear. My tiara tosses about, silken threads of mane cascading against my nape.

Violet eyes look at the young colt, who stands with so much potential, potential that is lost in the eyes of his mother, potential that is squashed, bashed, told to run away. Concern shadows my face for a moment, before I direct my sharp, critical glare to the mare, eyes cutting right through her, as if looking at her very soul, her inner workings.

"What brings you to the World's Edge?"

I ask, though I suspect the answer to be as disappointing as this mare's attempts at being a mother.

I take more time to consider the foal as the mare looks to me with a sense of satisfaction, like I am some kind of prize, some ticket to her freedom, or perhaps she is merely hopeful to find a home amongst us. The foal is dark in hue, a curious shade of blue streaking through his mane, and down from his eyes. My violet gaze lingers on him for but a moment before returning to the mother, whose words reveal very little useful information as to why she decided to traipse across our borders with her foal in tow. I sigh, for I do not wish to offer refuge within my home to those who would not speak honestly to me. Stepping closer to them, I swing my tail dramatically from side to side; though my physical height is diminutive to most beings who walk this land, my stature and position within this herd is assured, I have held it since before the reckoning of the Gods.

"And what, pray tell, is it about this foal that brings you to our borders?" It is a silly way to respond to a question, I must say. What were her intentions, and why was she acting so coy about revealing them? I am no mother, the thought of raising one who shares my blood has rarely crossed my mind; it would be difficult to find a suitable mate to begin with, for he would need to match me in physique (to ensure the bloodline remains pure) as well as smarts (to ensure the foal grows with the necessary tools to take my position from me when the time is right). I happily taught youths of my herdland in the wise ways that I have lived life here since before the Godly destruction of this kingdom, but I feel no special pull towards them. Patiently, I wait for this seemingly simple mare to continue on with her speech, perhaps this time she might have something more illuminating to say.

The despicable Pegasus attempts to look bigger, braver, classier - it is all for naught, as I hold the power here, the ability to glimpse the past, present and future all with the sweeping motion of my tail, orchestrating the mists about me to my whim. Even now, they dance and linger about, creeping closer, threatening to engulf me. They shy away from the dark forms of the Pegasus and her son, however, not yet recognising them as part of the Edge. But the foggy, damp clutches of mist pools at my feet, threatening to obscure me from their view even though I stand right before them. The mare before me gets an interesting gleam to her eye, one that I find unattractive, unholy and far too smug. What was it she intended on doing here?

Then it all falls into place. Her muzzle pushes against the young foal, her teeth spurring him on. And she speaks, and the words trigger my svelte ears to lay flat against my skull, annoyance clearly written all over my façade. Did she intend on abandoning him here? Or was she planning on staying here and raising the child? My nostrils pinch with distaste at her, at the idea of what she was doing, at the unholy act she was attempting to do. I level my sharp gaze her at, looking over the poor colt caught in the middle of this situation. It was not his fault he had been born to a useless whelp of a mare, one who would leave him to die in the hands of strangers than bother to linger around and see to his upbringing herself.

"His home is with his mother." I reply with a deadly seriousness, my gaze boring deep into her own, leaving no question for my thoughts on the matter.