Darkness.

Had the moon been high in the sky, illuminating the world below, Mirage would have felt like she was transformed back to her old roots, her land of eternal midnight, where one did not track the motion of time by the rising and setting of the Sun, but rather, by the rise and fall of only the Moon. This, however, was different, and all the more unsettling because of that difference. The mare found what comfort she could in the lack of magic, without her illusionary cloak to cling to her hide, she reverted to practices of old, roaming the shadows like a shadow herself, masking the sound of her footprints with careful placement on soft ground. It was fortunate that she knew these tracks reasonably well - and being born in a land where only night illuminated the sky, her eyes were naturally prone to being more sensitive than others in times of weak light.

Above her, a golden dragon flew. Though the WeyrLeader was troubled with the terrorism haunting her herd, she needed to do something. Movement, exploration; restlessness had taken hold of her, and she was not about to leave Helovia altogether - no, but she had to get out, to explore, to stretch her legs and run for miles in the darkness, her dragon as her guide.

The forest surrounding them was one she recognised, one that she had visited many times before, though perhaps not as recently or frequently as she should have. Life had kept her from the borderlands of the realm, she did not often find herself able to get to the Threshold, to guide potential newcomers to her home, to present a welcoming front to those who proved themselves worthy of such treatment. She was well aware of the potential tensions that might run high in these strange times, and even if she had been able to, she would not use her magic this day. A scent, equine and male, seemed to float by her senses; ears pricked as her tiara turned in the direction she thought it came from, confirmed as Akaith flew higher and extended her range of sight.

Pale against dark, the sparse splotches upon the hide of the stallion were recognised slightly off the beaten track. The little shadowmare slowed her pace, turning her bodice towards the steed, tiara tilted so that her nape was arched into a shallow, but respectful nonetheless, nod of acknowledgement. Akaith filtered down from above, landing lightly upon the back of her beloved, crooning a soft song as she did so.

"Greetings, stallion, and welcome to Helovia."