The sadness that plagued my beloved was difficult to ignore, it ran so deep, and felt so permanent, I could not help but walk with my eyes downcast, my ears pinned against my dark skull. Despite the heat of the season bearing down upon us, a constant, gloomy chill seems to follow us around, a misty drizzle that leaves me with an annoyed dampness in my fur, even when the elemental flame ignites along my spine. It has been a handful of days since the passing of one of the most important figures in our lives, and they have all posed similar outlooks; gloom, darkness, depression. I sigh heavily, as I done so often recently, plagued by the sadness myself but willing to move on, if only she would too. Her thoughts never drift far from the event, from when we found he body, lying there, motionless; dead. I try to instil my own images, my own thoughts into the equation, trying to impress upon her the gleaming fire of hope we were shown by the Gods after his death, and the gift they had bestowed upon her.

It was not that I longed for her to forget about him, for that was something that would be impossible, I simply longed for her to accept his death, just as one accepts that sometimes tragedies happen, and they are unexplainable. I wanted the grief to move on, the dark raincloud that hovered ominously both above her and upon her pelt to shift, to reveal the sunny blue skies and bright smiles that I knew existed in there. But it was as stubborn as the belle herself, determined to linger, to damage, to scar so deeply that it would take years to scab over. I held faith that that would not happen, that she would heal sooner; I would ensure it was so.

The scent that tickles my sensitive nostrils causes a pause in my step, my crown lifting to tilt towards our borders, my thoughts shooting a spike of curiosity at my bonded, whether she wanted to hear them or not. I received acknowledgement, at least, in the sense that she too looked at the borders, ears pricked forward, a mild interest shown in events that did not involve moping over and over about the death of her father. It is a strange scent that I detect, one that I have not felt before, one that reminded me of forests, rivers, one that was foreign and yet, also tinged with the sense that it undeniably came from the same globe. A voice softly comes to us then, a call to healers, a gathering for those who would show an interest in the arts that Azzuen had pleaded so ardently we follow. Faith in the healing arts had been lost, a little, as Cirrus had attempted to use the powers bestowed upon her by the lands to heal the dead body of her father - though she did not prevail.

More out of obedience than anything else, she moved towards the sound, towards the gathering that she would have surely found interesting had the darkness of grief not been swallowing her up. I followed, relishing in the change of direction, and tried to initiate a change of pace. I bounded ahead of her, I barked at her - my voice was growing deeper and more powerful with each passing day - and I rejoiced when at least a hint of a smirk tilted the corner of her lips, a spark of amusement flared in the darkness that pervaded our bond. Her slender legs moved, lengthened their stride, trotted towards the borders now, a chilly breeze following us still, but the dampness from the constant drizzle had subsided.

What we found caused both of us to stop in our tracks, and stare, mouths hanging agape like wide, abysmal chasms.

My tongue lolled out of my mouth, a grin curving my mouth as I glanced from the tree-horse and back up to my beloved. The expression on her façade was beautiful as always, but contorted into something that showed surprise, amazement. It was a refreshing change from the sadness that had been there, a pleasant distraction, and I was happy to ride the change in emotion and twist them into a drop of joy. I barked again, to snap her from her reverie, and she hushed me with a glance. Smugly, I leaned against her foreleg again, finding comfort in these emotions that were finally different to the depression we both had been suffering through. Distractions were not a cure, but at least they provided some relief. A distraction with something this unusual was most welcome, for it was so large that thoughts of Azzuen had vanished completely from her mind. I looked at the gathering again, even as my bondmate dips her tiara to them, shuffling her wings uncomfortably, as if she were trying to cover up a stain on the lounge with a blanket.

The weather is breezy, but for once, not unpleasantly so. The sky above and upon my beloved's pelt gleams a clear sky blue, with a hint of white fluffy clouds rimming her barrel. She looks at the one who holds the scent of home, before returning her gaze to the strangers, the outsiders. Foothills, I hear the thought, and tilt my crown sideways. It is a land she has flown over before, but never visited directly, a land that rests at the base of many mountains, where lush rolling plains give ideal environments for a herd to grow and prosper.

And, apparently, the ideal location for a tree to grow on a horse.

I smell the weasel that crawls about the strange creature before I see the flash of red fur, and immediately my eyes are trained to it, naturally I am interested in it, though perhaps for different reasons than my bonded would be. I seem to more readily accept the presence of this equine with her lofty branches, while Cirrus continues to glance upwards at the branches with a sense of worry.

"I'm Cirrus." Her angelic tones present the title with a slightly unsure waver, as if she was uncertain that Cirrus really was her name. "I'm a healer..." She added, even as she dipped her tiara down as if to gain a different perspective on the lignea. "Is there anything I can, uh, do for you?" Unpractised that she was with offering aid or help, she wondered if maybe this creature had come here to seek help in removing the growth that contorted her back so grossly out of proportion. Such a thing was surely beyond her skill range, but perhaps Onni would be able to help more.

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