The never-ending freedom of the sky was unsurpassed. Weightlessly he glided within the endless expanse of blue, the icy breeze tickling through his feathers and pushing him forward. Lost so high above the snow-capped world, he felt a peace wash over him. There was no agenda to follow and no mission to complete, nothing but his own thoughts to dictate his mind. Below him the half burn forest rose up from the shore that neighbored his island home. The quiet of it remained untouched by the political momentum he felt almost constantly. He had lost track of how much time had past since his last visit and it had been almost too easy to gravitate back into the warmth of its freedom. Once a pinnacle of political pursuit, Taiga stood as a representation of failed agenda. An example of all that could occur should the scales remain unbalanced for too long. Good would always wage war against the evils that sought to sink its teeth into the land. Taiga was one such example.
 
Glancing down below him he marveled at how changed the redwood forest appeared. Despite the frozen grip of winter, new life was evident and abounded everywhere he looked. It provided hope that things were never quite as hopeless as they seemed. Veering slightly to his left, he sought out a clearing below as the wind buffeted him lower. Carried downward his hooves effortlessly caught his weight as his wings folded in one elegant swoop. Trotting a few steps forward he breathed in deeply as he halted, tasking the musky flavor of the air. Quiet surrounded him and penetrated the chaos of his tortured mind.
 
The number of those that chose to linger within the mournful haunt was minimal, provided a solitude that Belgaer could appreciate. The constant revolving of visitors upon Ischia had almost made the island feel far more crowded than it ever had under Krone’s rule. He was still unsure if that was a good thing or not. There was an eeriness that reached out from the depths of the shadows there, a story whispered upon the tongues of those who had succumbed to the fire and water of the fairies’ wrath. Walking through the field of untouched snow, Belgaer imagined them watching from their prisons – unwelcomed into the afterlife. Their screams felt carried upon the winds and goosebumps rose up on the back of the chestnut’s neck. In all his visits there he felt more like an intruder than a guest, unwanted and invasive. Yet, still he returned to it. Fascinated by the stories engraved into the trunks of the surviving redwoods. Absently he felt his mind slip back to the present as he wondered if Sylva would be next.
 
Exhaling his muscles grew suddenly rigid as he felt the warming presence of another. Glancing sharply to his left his eyes followed the itching of his mind, scanning every shadow until they found the figure of another lost within the thicket. Not a great distance away a glint of iron piqued Belgaer’s interest as he observed the armored creature that almost appeared to be patrolling the area. There was a familiarity found within his physique and one particular name came to mind despite its impossibility. It defied all logic that their paths would cross in such a place and he had been led to believe that Krone’s children resided in Tephra under Warrick’s protection. Still, the memories were unrelenting, and the appaloosa stallion stepped curiously forward, his brown eyes narrowing upon the green and silver stud. Could it be? Was it truly Kromium?