The beauty of Orangemoon wasn't lost on Apollo as he made his rounds on that particular morning. He had awoken rather early, sleep seemingly out of his grasp for the remainder of the morning, but that was fine by the ebony and white stallion. There was nothing wrong with an early morning stroll, however, the chill of fall still prominent in the stale air, the the grass damp with the morning dew. The silence and simple lack of life made him feel closer to his patron God, the Earth God, and the powers that he had bestowed upon the Medic. Even before becoming the Earth Medic of the Foothills, earth-ly powers had been granted to the stag, and in turn, he had always felt more in-tune with nature than he had before wandering into Helovia.

It was his gift and his life, and he would trade it for nothing.

The beads in his mane clacked together innocently as the stallion made his way through the damp grasses of the Foothills, his head held high, knees pulling up with each stride of the elongated trot. It wasn't often that the stag moved with such confidence and self-assurance, but today felt like it was the beginning of a new life. A new page. He felt more aware of himself, more hopeful and less world-weary, less love-struck. Perhaps it was the distance that he had been spending away from her, but Apollo was beginning to feel less and less of her sway on him and his heart...

Did he still love her? Yes, of course... But perhaps, a love between friends was what would be best. Apollo snorted abruptly, giving his head a harsh flick to the right. It would do him no good to ponder Phaedra right now, not when he was already in such a good mood. The action of tossing his head aside caused the early-morning sunshine to glisten on the crystalline crown that rested upon his brow, if only for a second, before the unicorn set his stance once more.

Clack, click, clack... The ice-colored beads that Tinek had kindly woven into his mane knocked together, creating a staccato of clacks that echoed in the area with each step that he took. The sounds of the beads were occasionally accompanied with a swish of his tail, ebony strands flicking left and right as he continued his morning venture.

Warm, loving honeyed eyes lingered upon the land that he called home, and soon the roaring melodies of the waterfall caused the stallion's ebony ears to twitch forward. At this hour the water would be cool and refreshing, the stream flowing directly from the Godly mountains that bordered the Foothills... A perfect time to stop and take a drink, and then maybe ponder breakfast.

Yet before much else could be thought of, a sharp, agonized cry caught the Medic's attention and he drew quickly to a hault, head snapping higher upwards. The monochromatic boy's nostrils flared wide, inhaling the scents around him as he tried to process potential danger. Was there an enemy about? No, impossible. With Archibald the ever-loyal General, and their steadfast executioners, it was impossible for someone to have infiltrated their homeland. Still... Someone might be hurt, and that alone warranted the stallion to act.

Moving forward at a brisk walk, Apollo's head twisted left and right, searching for who or what had made the sound of pain. Around the cascading falls did he go, hooves slipping slightly on the rocks that hid beneath luscious blades of grass, but it was only when he had descended the hill that he saw the creature that must have been the one to cry out in distress.

It was a filly, a child, who lay in the grass in pain. Surprise and worry blossomed upon the painted stallion's face, and immediately he moved to her, nickering warmly to announce his presence. "Shh, child," he whispered softly, neck bending downwards as he came to stop beside the pink-hued palomino, "Hold still, hold still, you don't want to make it worse... Where does it hurt?" As his honey-brown eyes expertly assessed the filly's lanky and elegant frame, Apollo came to the startling realization of just who this filly was. While he had never meet his love-interests daughters, Phaedra's scent was engrained in the stallion's head, and while marred with the genes of another, her scent was unmistakeable. This was definately one of her daughters...

Swallowing thickly, Apollo pressed on. He couldn't let thoughts of Phaedra stop him from helping someone in need, especially a young child. "You'll be alright, I promise..." He mumbled, simply wanting to assure the uniquely colored filly that all would be well. "I don't believe we've met, hm? I'm Apollo; the Medic of the Grey. What's your name, sweet?" The words that were leaving his throat were to serve as a form of distraction from the pain. Perhaps, if the palomino could focus on the questions in which he gave her, the pain would be easier to bear? As he spoke, Apollo's eyes wandered down the lanky femme's limbs, spotting what ailed her almost immediately. Her ankle lay twisted, it seemed, and immediately a bitter taste filled Apollo's throat. A wound like that could kill a horse if left untreated...

I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill."