As a general rule I shy away from the act of dwelling on what brings me pain, but the mare is shockingly considerate enough to extend her condolences for the death of my father. I begin to shy away from the idea of calling him father- I wonder if calling him by his name would help distance me from the pain. After all, I barely knew him anyway; why should I be so torn apart? And any moment when I consider my mother's likely death is one of relief, I feel odd treating the two so differently. Then again, they weren't hesitant to treat me in the same manner. It's funny how one's childhood shapes them for the rest of their life. It's strange that even after all this time, her touch leads me to shiver and hesitate- to back away in fear.

      I decide then, with a sense of firm obligation, that Arbutus shall life a life free of trouble for as long as I can maintain it. The peace we have now as we rest together is strong, and I know it has the potential to be unbreakable. I simply hope it doesn't fade with his fire or wane with my optimism. After all, this good mood isn't bound to last; they never do.

       Yet my eyes light up at the mare's mention of a prospective home, and I am not the only one that feels this spark of hope as an impetus to move forth. Upon my back, Arbutus' feathers ruffle and embers fly from his flaming form. His eyes open suddenly, and in seconds he is lifted from my back and, for the first time, taking wing. I watch him with pride and joy, even letting a rare upturn of my lips occur as his fiery wings cut through the air and his whistles sound out. I whinny lightly as if to laugh, and my tired legs lift my body up, to look over the mare who has settled down before me. My yellow gaze travels out into the distance, and briefly meets Arbutus' as he wheels around me with excitement. "It would be an honor to join your ranks, Cassiopeia," I answer with a slight nod. "Arbutus certainly seems thrilled with the idea," I add cheerfully as he at last settles to perch on my shoulder.

       I begin to fade away as my concentration focuses less on the mare before me and more on my future. My wings retract and the flame dies, and, sensing the calm that has washed over me, Arbutus, too, lowers his flames to a mere smoldering ember. My voice reduces to almost a whisper, and almost musingly I speak my thoughts aloud. I think, if possible, I would like to protect the herd in some way," I murmur, recalling my father's bravery and loyalty to the islands herd. Perhaps it is not too late to follow in his path.