Wings that were the width of her agile body took to the burgundy skies. Night treaded all over the world, basking in heavy clumps of heat lightning that fell with the shake like a giant’s footsteps. Those wings pummeled through tiny gaps in the superheated mist, even at this elevation the world was on fire. She whisked through the hazardous wind, blaze first, trembling with emotions of sheer terror and sheer awe. Electricity shot through her veins. Her eyes lit with each passionate thought, as lightning cradled her in a sultry, hungry way. She was too quick. The old civilization below was falling further behind, and the hazel eyed girl knew it would never keep up, or never fall back – from her memories.

It had been days – weeks – or even months that she’d been gone. She didn’t count. One: it was too much effort. Two: she couldn’t find the nerves to care. Three: well, she was alone. There was no one to solidify the fact of hours passing, no one to tell her she is in the wrong direction, and no one dismembering her hopes. She was all at once new, and shiny.

Chandä had vanished from the brink of her homeland four hundred and thirty two days ago. She had cried twice in all of those numbers.

The girl is with us now, flying at a pace unmatchable by her past figure. She is fit, and sweat drips eagerly as it runs down in jagged pathways on her legs and to her hooves and off. Veins etch surreal patterns in her multi-colored chest, and her eyes intently scan the realm below. She is stronger than before. She is no longer the fragile girl locked away in the dark, demeaning hoard of medication. Freedom is perhaps the best word to describe the sensation speeding like the oxygen bubbles in her popping veins. It is perhaps the best feeling she’s felt in a while. Part of it is the sky, and part of it is the fact that there is more to the outside world.

The sky is a marvelous shade of cyan, but where she is, is in the centerpiece of a long, slender cloud. Her vision is veiled by the overhang of clear mist. Fortunately, the arrogant sun cannot reach her here, so instead she is surrounded by the hiss of warm wind currents, warm wind currents with mist. And as she moves out from the cloud’s forbidding reach, she finds why it would have been important to stay in its conditioning shadow. The sun devours the once cool mist, and it feels as if it is boiling upon the mare’s back. She is drenched with the arid air, clinging to the evaporating mist like eyes on a target. Out of the seething panic, Chandä descends, and her legs crash through sparse branches that have been weakened by the sunny heat. They snap and all too quickly, the mocha colored girl lands with her legs slipping in the dusty kicked up debris. As all resides for a moment, she shakes, and hurries to the nearest, most healthy tree. "Damn," she mutters under a flustered breath.


Chandä

Sky falls, you feel like it's a beautiful day

Her legs are trembling, and not just from the impact, but from the flashes in her brain. Thoughts just tumble over and over again, and the reoccurring moment seems so real. Even if it was real, it was certainly scarring. She glances to her back, and moves her wings to see if their still ablaze. She's untouched by serious burns, but places where she was thin in hair, sting like bees. Chandä's thoughts flash, back and forth, to reality, to what seemed to take place so long go. The multicolored girl remembers the thin line of water, instantly boiling as she removed herself from that rare sort of cover. She didn't realize the sun was so hot. At least it isn't normally.

She glances up through her tree's brown leaves, and into the sky, where that sun followed her like a beguiled god. It's eyes pierce the land, baking the seas and roasting even its inhabitants. She glares back with a mortal sort of torment, and the look in her eyes is a rare one.

Soon, someone arrives, ready to take the shell shower of frequently asked questions. She is a worried girl, worried perhaps more than she should be. Chandä is shaken, but not to terribly wounded, it is more on the inside that is scarred now. She is wiser in the mere passing seconds, realizing that she simply cannot drench a hand and place it on a stove. Soon, hazel eyes find the painted, brooding figure of Onni. As her voice slips between polite yet immensely apprehensive lips, Chandä listens contently.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes I believe so," the new girl's voice spills, rolling in the dry air for a moment before puffing out completely at Onni's ears. The girl various shades of chestnut, picks up and speaks again, "Nasty it was indeed. I don't think I've experienced a fall quite like that." She smiles when the words fall out. Her panting continues between take ins unlike before. The climate here is an inferno, literally. There are faint smells of smoke that are perhaps drifting from surrounding lands that have it worse than this one. It's hard to imagine worse, but it always is, until you really experience it. Her mocha gaze continues to follow up the girl's closely related appearance. They are of the same height, similar colors, and even the wingspan is pretty close. Both faces are marked with a textured frost. The difference is in the eyes.

Chandä's attention faces those light, kind eyes that total her expression completely. They are almost normal to an everyday paint horse expression, but these eyes are different. By the way that they convey the girl's emotion, glittering vitally in the sun's deathly glare, even Chandä can tell they've seen much more than this.


Chandä

Sky falls, you feel like it's a beautiful day

Her own eyes are arid as they sweep across the dusty landscape. Her lungs are arid as she deeply inhales to the unsaid demand resonating from the strange healer. Chandä was taught to behave in ways that shield her own physical pain, but extract others. She remembers that old witch who concocted wicked potions that work by lighting up the inflicted damage. She wonders what the potion would find wrong with her own state. She inwardly chuckles. The brown mare knows she should have left before she was wound into the healers' handle, and she won't let it happen again.

Her thoughts on Onni are little because they are swallowed in the throat on heated concentration on herself and curiosity. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, and mentally searches out her body for feelings of electrified nerves masked by shock. Mostly, the pain spurts from the skin of her back and wing joints in fiery tendrils. The girl isn't used to this sort of physical pain, usually physical pain is more of an ache or throb, but this stinging sensation isn't as pleasing. Her eyes flutter open again as Onni puts her thoughts into words. Chandä's ears erect as she explains the Sun's nonsensical behavior. That is not where her curiosity lies. "You're a healer." It wasn't so much a question as it was a declaration. "I was once in the medical realm. It seemed to reject me almost as much as I rejected it." The girl's voice is smooth, and she speaks as if she's always been able to speak out opinions, but soon she laughs and all that is lost. "I'm kidding, I was a horrible medic, it was more the Witch-doctor who rejected me than myself."

The memories of life before grow a strangely tight emotion over her chest and she rolls her eyes in distrust. She can't think of them now, not after all they've done to the poor girl's soul. But she is pulled back by Onni's welcome. Helovia? Is that what this place is called? It certainly lives up to the "Hel" prefix, but it's "Ovia" is uncertain. The blurb sounds like magic to her, and she figures hell-magic is a good fit. "Helovia," she tests the word on her tongue. "Such a pretty name for such a dry place."


Chandä

Sky falls, you feel like it's a beautiful day