Dearest parents,

It is with great pleasure that I inform you I have once again gone gallivanting off on my own. But I am much stronger now, my wings have grown to such lengths that they are able to carry my weight – sure I might not be able to do much more than glide and sometimes flap to gain speed and a few metres of altitude – but I am learning! Those exercises you gave me, father, I can finally see their usefulness now, as my wing joint gets thicker with muscles and my bodice more trim and lean, making me appear more streamlined than the fuzzy little filly I was before.

I wander the Frostbreath Steppe again, because its cooler climate attracts me near to it, my coat reflecting nothing but the clear skies above me again. I appear as a sky blue roan, bluer than you, mother, for your coat is a beautiful deep indigo, where mine is light and bright like the sky above. I do not mind you see, sometimes when clouds etch themselves upon me it itches, though not in an annoying way, more in a way that simply makes me aware of what the weather is doing without me having to see it first-hand – I could hide in a cave for a week and know exactly what the skies were up to every single day.

But I am getting off track. My gliding flight is interrupted, and I come to an abrupt landing, my ears distracted by the forlorn call of a strange creature. He is much like the being Merakerr, though male, that much I can tell, and well, different. I watch his motions, and feel his sadness as he settles by a body whom I can only assume is his mate. I approach him warily, nickering a sweet, sad little song to him, lowering my tiara. I know of loss, I mourned my uncle’s passing with my father – though I knew him not, the great love you had for Voltaic, father, I will miss he who I did not know.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” I say honestly, my speech having improved from the incessant shouting tones I usually employed and matured to a rich, kind accent. My electric blue eyes then turn to the egg he has tossed aside – this griffon was not like you, father, he could not find reason to live through what remained of his family. I wonder, father, would you wish to follow mother if she wandered to the next realm? You’ve told me of your parents, how one could not bear to live without the other – I would miss you father, both of you, should you decide to live and die that way – but I mustn’t focus on things that were yet to happen, no.

“Can I help?” I knew all too well that nothing could bring back his mate, so I clearly indicate the egg with my chiselled tiara as I ask the query.

Parents, I think today is going to be a day of lessons – just you wait until I tell you all about them.


Cirrus.