Ree.

Early morning is possibly her favorite time of the day. The sun is just barely breaching the edge of the horizon, the first few rays of radiant light stretching determinedly beyond the boundaries of the earth they are captured behind. The land stirs, birds flitting through the air with their sing song chirrup following them as they go, a gentle breeze stirs the tall grasses that surround the Throat’s center piece; a vast, beautiful lake. Everything else is rather silent, incredibly still, the calm before the world awakens to begin another day. It is in that moment of suspended, unmarred serenity that Ree finds herself most at ease. It is the only time the naturally anxious mare does not worry about what lies ahead, but rather basks in the glow of the moment, reveling in the tranquility of daybreak.

She stands with her fore hooves in the water that laps at the lakes sandy shore, granules of grit and grime clinging to the slight feathers of her fetlocks, hazel eyes peering down at the reflection that stares uncertainly back at her. She tries to smile, but her attempt falters, and instead she continues to stare forlornly down at the frightened, nervous image of herself painted in the cool stillness of the lake’s undisturbed surface. There was nothing to be fearful of, no rhyme or reason for the young mare to feel distressed or uneasy within the safe confines of the Dragon’s Throat. But like it always does the pin prick of panic wallows in the depths of her thoughts and rests heavily on her soul, a led weight determined to drown her in the river of her own insecurities. Like a sullen child Ree splashes at the image of herself, disappointed in the meek and mild individual who stares back at her each time she visits the lakeside, sending crystal clear droplets of water soaring through the air, shimmering in the sunlight of the rising sun as they go.

She turns away, slowly and methodically walking through the tall, lush grasses that are native to the desert oasis she lives in. The occasional palm tree looms over her as she passes, casting shade for the occasional passerby to rest in if they need. Ree does not stop though, but continues to traipse forward, propelled by nothing more than the restless need to feel the ground moving away from beneath her hooves with each step. As she goes her thoughts whirl by in a flurry of endless, incessant images, nothing but nonsensical, useless qualms that make her fret and worry. Two times now she had dared to wander outside the protection of the Throat’s borders, into the wilds of Helovia’s Heart, and two times she had returned unscathed. It seemed impossible that she had not encountered some sort of danger during her brave escapades, yet here she stood, fully intact with all limbs and no broken bones. Her forays away from the safety of the known and the normal have woken a curiosity she did not know she possessed. Ree found herself contemplating the vast expanse of land beyond the desert, the places and strangers that existed outside the carefully crafted safety of her world.

Ree pauses, looking to the east where the sun is visible now, imagining what places lie in wait on the other side of the horizon. In her head she can hear her mother’s condescending voice, grating and patronizing, commentating on how ridiculous an idea it was to think that there was anything worth finding beyond the shelter of one’s own existence. It is that small minded train of thought that prevents the petite bay mare from finding out any different. Ree bites her lip thoughtfully, her pretty head upturned as she continues to stare distantly off into the unknown. The sun dances across her skin and if one were to look at her just right it would appear that her profile seems to glow, clearly defining the ivory white trail of hairs that run the length of her face, where it fades into the soft pink of her nose. Her green eyes are thoughtful, bright, and alive with fascination as she drops her head and begins to graze, humming a merry, blithe tune reminiscent of the small song birds that flit through the blue skies over the top of her head.

Midas

the screams the nobody hears, are bellowed the loudest at night

Ree.

There was something primal about the cry of a bird of prey during the hunt, and it caused the bay mare to jump in place, head thrown up in surprise, hazel eyes wide as they followed the unexpected swoop of the elegant huntress diving into grass. With easy beats of her fine wings, feathered ends a cascade of brilliant colors, she lands in the grass just hoof falls away. And there standing slightly further still is a stallion Ree had not seen while she had been pursuing the lush oasis grass, the gentle rays of a warm dawn sun casting soft hues of orange and red across the ivory of his coat, the obsidian splashes gleaming with unmatched brilliance. Nervously Ree stands in place, ears flickering, a telltale sign of her nervous temperament and uncertainty. She stares at the wings folded to his side, the graceful arc and slope that run from the juncture of his shoulder to the edges of each fine feather that nearly trails the emerald blades beneath him. A familiar sense of longing settles like a weight in the young mare’s chest, and she imagines what it must be like to possess the power of flight, to soar far above what mortal troubles plagued the earth below an endless sky.

“Good morning m’lady, forgive my friend here…she seems to be lacking manners of late.”

Ree smile’s sheepishly, glancing in the direction that the stallion gestures, observing the pretty bird with muted fascination, doing her best not to stare. She is quite stunning, exquisite, with a fine plumage of the creamiest ivory whites, and indigos, reds and violets. Ree is reminded of a cloudy sunset sky, with the disc of the daytime star falling just below the line of the horizon, allowing the deepest colors to linger in the air before night chases them into oblivion. The dead snake is coiled in the creature’s talons, maimed and mutilated as she munches on its carcass, oblivious to the gruesomeness of her actions, content to simply exist in the moment. Ree has never allowed herself to experience the luxury of blissful ignorance, too many times she fretted over unlikely scenariors, the opinions of others, and all the bad and terrible things that could befall were she to take any sort of risk or delve into danger. Cautiousness was her nature, wariness her stronghold, while the outside world was nothing short of terrifying.

“She is beautiful.” Ree murmurs quietly, her voice soothing to the sound, intonations clear and cool like a long drink from a sparkling brook on a birdsong morning. Her hazel eyes are like a green field threatened to turn gold during the summer, and they remain slightly downcast, only daring to glance at the mighty stallion before her in brief, bashful intervals from beneath long lashes. The ebony locks of her main fall in tangled disarray across the length of her neck, her forelock wild and twisted across the dish of her petite face, and her tail drags through the knee length grass that surrounds her. She looks like a woodland fairy, a nymph pulled from a storybook, cast amongst the unlikely lands of the Dragon’s Throat. In comparison to the pallid and shadowed warrior she is small, fragile, and enshrouded in the frailty of her youthfulness, her naivety ever apparent in the awkwardness of her stance, her soft spoken demeanor, the implicit lack of worldliness that seems to follow her everywhere she goes.

“I am Ree,” She offers in shy greeting, “Who might you and your friend be?”

Midas

the screams the nobody hears, are bellowed the loudest at night

Ree.

The lovely little bird that accompanies the pegasus seems to be thrilled with the attention, and Ree watches with wide eyes of intrigue and fascination as she sets herself afire, the flames licking at her feathers as if they had no painful effect on her at all. Ree cannot imagine what the fire must feel like, dancing across the pretty birds delicate skin, and she imagines that the creature must be quite brave- something Ree is most certainly not. The bay mare grins at the humorous interaction between the two strangers that have met her here beside the lake, and she envies the bond they so obviously share, and how it must feel knowing that loneliness is impossible.

“Don’t let her overhear your kind words….it doesn’t help with those lacking manners. I am Midas, and that little fireball, is Fina.”

Ree can’t help but laugh at Midas’ words, a musical, bubbly sound much like a brooking running through the woods and over smooth stones, accompanied by the songs of birds during the spring. It is Tallsun now though, and while the morning in the desert remains fairly cool, Ree also knows that by the time the sun reaches midday she and many others will have sought the protection of the shade. She warms to the pair quickly, her shyness deflating bit by bit as she grows comfortable with the winged stallions company. She does not mind when he steps closer, for as fearful as the bay mare was of strangers and the dangers of the unknown, she still craved attention and acceptance. She listened respectfully as he asked her of her origins, and she grew slightly pensive as she thought of how to best explain her rather boring beginnings.

“You’re quite polite, really,” Ree assures him with a gentle smile, “My childhood was spent as an outcast of sorts… I have spent a few weeks here in the Throat, as I enjoy the company of others, though in all honesty I do quite well at hiding and keeping to myself, which is perhaps why you haven’t seen me.”

Ree’s disposition turns sheepish again as she debates on telling the ivory and obsidian Pegasus anything else. She didn’t even like to think about it much herself. Her past, though perhaps sad and melancholy, was hardly tragic or interesting. Her mother had been an outcast, and the lady herself had been a sickly, paranoid woman who had passed her panicked tendencies onto her daughter. Ree does not remember her father much, except for his absence, and occasional appearance that often did not herald anything besides heart ache and disappointment. Perhaps that is why individuals of the male variety intimidated her, though Midas certainly seemed benevolent and thoughtful. Ree did not say anything else though, deciding that voicing her own story would hardly lighten the mood. Instead she continues to watch Fina, occasionally glancing at Midas as well, enjoying the feeling of being among friends. It was something she did not get to enjoy often.

Midas

the screams the nobody hears, are bellowed the loudest at night

Ree.

“I’m glad you have settled into this family, life as an outcast must have been hard.”

Ree’s warm smile only brightens further at the painted stallion’s concern, and she once more looks bashfully at her hooves, unused to such attention from a stranger. Midas seems like a compassionate soul, slow to anger and patient, if his interactions with his companion were anything to judge by. At Fina’s commotion Ree glances toward the pretty bird, and though her first reaction is to wrinkle her nose at the somewhat gruesome sight of the huntress’ kill, the exchange between the phoenix and Midas only serves to cause the bay mare to laugh once more. Their ease of communication is enviable, a connection that she longs for in a way of her own. Perhaps she’d find a way to duplicate such a thing, but for now…

“Thank you Midas,” She trills softly, “It definitely wasn’t easy… but I’d like to think that it wasn’t all bad either.”

Ree, despite her tendency to worry about anything and everything, also tried to give herself chances to linger in the light of positive, motivating thoughts. She was drawn to all things merry and mirthful, they soothed the panic that sometimes seized her, chased away the demons and lit up the dark. If there was nothing else in this world, she at least had the small satisfaction of having some semblance of hope for the good and benevolence of all things left in her heart. She digs at the desrt grass shyly with her fore hoof, obsidian forelock falling across her face, obscuring her vision. She glances up again as Midas continues to talk.

“You seem to blend well as you would say, keep to yourself—have you thought about learning the art of a spy? Or perhaps healing?”

Ree is caught off guard by his question, for the young mare has never given any real serious thought to what she might like to do or be, outside of simply existing. She doesn’t answer him right away, biting her lip in thoughtful silence, uncertainty causing her to be slow to reply. Ree suspected that spycraft was a tricky thing to maneuver and manipulate, something she wasn’t sure she would do well with, but the winged stallion’s talk of healing was intriguing. Would it be fulfilling, to help those who could not help themselves? Ree ponders in silent fascination at the idea of aiding the ill and injured, and she cannot help but wonder what it might be like to be needed in such a fashion, to be the one responsible for the wellbeing of so many others. It was a daunting task, to be sure, but in the same breath surely such a calling must be rewarding. With a sheepish smile she met Midas’ kind eyes.

“Healers have always made me curious… I suppose if I had to choose, then that is the route I would attempt to follow.”