keep keep on running, there's no place like home

The cold of winter once again engulfed the lands, snow and ice as far as the eye could see, turning everything once familiar into a strange dreamscape. Much had seemed to change, not as much in the surroundings as on the personal level, since the snowy dove last set hoof on these lands. Magenta globes sought cautiously ahead, trying to discern any known figures but failing. She who had once been driven by a strong desire to find herself, to define her place in the world, had circled around to her initial starting point. It was nothing like what she had expected, but now Daenerys knew that her true home was with the World’s Edge. If only they would have her. Longing struck her youthful heart at the thought of her sister, the onyx DragonHeart, and she felt anxious for some reason. Mirage had always been very understanding of her whims and ideas, but by now Dany felt downright guilty for declining her hospitality when offered a safe home within the Edge. It was true that at the time, she had not agreed with the way that home came to be – when the soil still reeked of blood and remains of the former inhabitants lay scattered about – but she had grown wiser. War is by no means desirable, but it is a necessary evil in protecting your kin and serving their best interests. Even Dany knew that much by now.

Dainty figure shivered slightly, standing in the open, howling winds tugging fiercely at her silvery silken tresses. Golden underbelly reflected the sunlight as it was thrown up from the snow, flashing oddly as every now and then a cloud came to pass the sun. It was difficult not to feel sentimental about a return such as this, but instead of tears, a smile of serenity was painted upon her delicate features. Tiara lowered slightly, halting as the femme found herself across the borders. A soft whinny slipped from her velvet kissers, like a thousand silver bells it rang across the land, carried upon the wind to the ears of whoever may be near. The belle caught herself glancing over her shoulder, but she was yet alone, and a sting of sorrow pierced her heart, for neither of her children had followed. Eris and Ares lived within themselves, needing no one but each other, and since they had weaned and become handsome yearlings, they had insisted to go off on their own. What was more disturbing was the absence of her oldest son, Ahriman. He had always followed her through thick and thin, but he too had abandoned her at this time. Something about his absence left her deeply unsettled, but she figured he might have sought shelter from the cold winter weather here, with his beloved family of The Qian. One could always hope.

Death. Even when it did not affect one directly, the little shadowy mare felt as if she knew its effects from personal experience. The depression, the gloom, the darkness that was tainted by a dangerous, volatile ring of fire within her reminded her of standing in the presence of the Reaper himself, the one her sister had captured and that Lace had defeated in order to keep him here. The one that left a trail of death in his wake, despite living on forever. Yet Mirage knew that it had not been he personally who had taken the life of her friends, but at least one of his herdmates had taken part in the destruction of her family, and she would not forget it. It was because of them that she felt this way, like an unhinged, unbalanced, unsettled, unstable soul who wandered through her woods cloaked by a magic that obscured her from the view of onlookers. She was seen only by her dragon, who could feel her more than see her any day.

When the woods reverberated with a song that brought the little shadow mare to a halt, she wondered if maybe the svelte soldiers that stood so attentively upon her tiara had lied to her - she was growing older now, older than most here, and it was very possible that her senses would slowly deteriorate over time. You aren't deaf, came the amused quip from her dragon, who had heard the tune and did not hesitate to glide towards it, hoping that the glimmer of happiness she emanated would rub off on her dull, dreary bonded. Since she had been rather forceful upon Mirage, chasing away her inner demons with a ferocity only a dragon could manage, the mare had been better - but still, she was not completely there. She was numbed to the pain she felt, numbed to the idea of conversing or caring or otherwise existing in this herd. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to turn her back on them all, to think only of herself, to keep herself and her dragon safe, to not suffer from this love and devotion that so naturally drove her to accept almost anyone as her kin. The dragon did not allow these thoughts to linger however, as her soul viciously chased away all remnants of such ideas - they would not be leaving their family, not now, not ever.

Quietly, and at a pace not entirely slow nor speedy, the Dragonheart made her way towards the phantom song, the tune which she still was almost afraid to believe existed at all. For if it was real… It was like when she came to the borders to see Aylin standing there, tall and grown, nervously seeking acceptance. Since that day, how much of the youth had she seen? Pathetic little amounts, she realised with guilt, knowing that the title of leadership came with much responsibility that meant she was not able to spend extended periods of time with those she loved dearly. To her family, her daughters and her beloved mate, it was part of being connected to their beloved mother and mate, they accepted her for it, loved her for it. But to a youth who relied on her friendship and suddenly saw less of it? Mirage had no doubt she was hated amongst those she longed to show her love for. But now she had more reasons not to, not only because if she allowed herself to love them, she was hurt all the more when they were taken from her - and equally, if they grew to love her, it would be all the harder for them to move on if she was ever taken, or passed away.

The WeyrLeader may hold the Heart of a Dragon in her breast, but she was tired of love.

And still it bothered her. Afflicted her. No matter how much she loathed the emotion, it soared proud and true, thumping away happily in her chest when her golden gaze fell onto the violet pools of Daenerys, drinking in the mare's physique, scouring her form automatically for any additions of scars, bruises, malnourishment. Feeling the guilt swell in her again as she saw the golden scars, the ones left by the flames of the Sun God, and berated herself, why wasn't I there to stop it? But it was so long ago, in the past, before the Qian even called the Edge their home. As dark as Dany was light, Mirage approached the beautiful, slim dove, remembering with pain their last, tragic encounter. Dany had rightly confronted the mare about her technique of taking the home, one that Mirage had not seen as optional at the time, and still couldn't now. A necessary evil, perhaps, but it was still evil, still something she would never wish upon her enemy nor friend in the future. The most painful point of the memory was the fact that Mirage knew exactly how her pale friend had felt because she had felt the same way - she hated herself for her actions.

But they were done. The past will remain in the past.

Akaith flew forward without hesitation, sketching an oval above the alabaster mare, trilling a warm warble, flying so close that if Dany held her nose out at the right angle the little queen would affectionately brush herself against it. The gold then promptly landed upon her bonded's back, and with the closer physical contact, she helped her bonded work through the tumultuous dozens of thoughts that cascaded through her troubled mind, and eventually, the mare was able to reach forth and touch her friend, the pale, innocent, beautiful Daenerys. A warm nicker fell from her throat just as a tear fell from her golden pool, as she motioned to embrace the belle, who was but a girl the last time they had seen each other, and had returned a mature, glorious lady. "It has been too long." Accented tones drifted from her maw as it motioned to play with her hair, the pain of her sorrow swallowed as she finally relented to allow the persistent happiness to gleam from within her, curving her lips and shining behind her eyes. "Daenerys," she breathed the name, as if afraid that if she said it too loud, the illusion of her presence would disappear forever.

"Where have you been?"