One's past did not define their future.

The WeyLeader's past was littered with a variety of things. Pain, suffering, solitude, joy, war, death. But she had worked through it all, never losing sight of who she was, of what she was on this world. The little shadow creature had changed over the years, she had grown, matured into her own soul, a soul that was closely entwined with a dragon's. Akaith had done nothing but give her insight into her own flaws, her own strengths, the little queen had helped Mirage become the best she could be.

But even the dragon could not prevent the rare shadows of dark, angry emotions from overwhelming her bondmate every now and then.

It didn't happen often, and usually required a trigger, an event where such violence, such rage would be warranted. A shiver coursed through the dark pelt of the maiden, as she recalled the consequences an unknown stallion faced when he tried to take advantage of her body, to dominate her, to impregnate her against her will. She recalled the way his body slumped, a charred corpse lying upon the dry grasses of Helovia's Heart, the grunt of effort her beloved Vikram had given as he heaved the body into the well of flames nearby.

Such events did not define the maiden, at least, not on their own. What defined Mirage was how she moved on afterwards, how she learned from them, how she used them to her advantage. Knowledge was the greatest power one could posses, and Mirage yearned for knowledge more than any other substance in the world.

A curious chirrup from her beloved in the trees above drew her attention away from internal reflections of battle's past. As subtle as a gentle sea breeze, the little shadow moved amongst the trees, towards the area where Thor's deep voice spoke, where a meek reply came from the maw of a stallion still unknown to her. The shimmering, image distorting cloak was upon her frame as she pulled herself forth from the clutches of the shadows, the mists dancing at her feet, a golden dragon gliding with aerodynamic ease on the wind above.

The cloak was dropped, and the little mare stood before the stallions with a curious tilt to her crown being the only hint she gave of her interest. Otherwise she remained impassive, vacant, her golden eyes peering up to the titanic frame of Thor with a hint of a familiar smile behind them, before venturing to the hide of this new beast, drinking the scars, the muscle tone, the tortured stature of him.

"Greetings." Her voice was as soft and subtle as the hint of salt on the misty air. "Welcome to the World's Edge." She proffered nothing more, unwilling to label herself a leader from the get-go, she would rather prove herself to the unknown steed, let him call her his leader instead of demanding that he did so. Let him judge her as nothing more than a little shadow in the lands, a quiet, wise little sylph, whose abilities were often underestimated given her initial appearances. Akaith landed upon her rump, the glistening, golden hide reflecting what little light was left in the skies from the sun.

The sun set, and the Moon rose. It was time for the shadows of the Edge to play.