There is the melancholy sound of a lone whippoorwill somewhere in the near distance. 

It should be an omen, perhaps.

His Ma would have said so, certainly.  His Ma would have told him to turn tail and find the water, find the current, find home.  Of course Ma would have wanted him to come home.  She would have welcomed him back into the fold.  She would have fussed over him.  Every stray, coppery tendril of his wild hair would be put back into place.  She would tell him he looks thin and ragged; she would tell him to eat more ‘fore winter comes a‘steppin.  She would kiss the top of his head and say he could stay as long as he liked a’course. 

Hearing that whippoorwill should be an omen, would be to anyone else in his Clan.

Finian throws a withering look in the bird’s general direction, chortles to himself, and pushes ahead.

He’s not completely unfamiliar to Beqanna, after all.  He had passed through half a year or so ago on his epic journey.  It was meant to be a stepping stone into the greater world beyond, a place he could mentally check off and write off and never visit again.  But there had been a catch.  The last time he came, Finian went to the Mountain.  And ever since then, the sunrise lands have rudely pushed their way into his thoughts.

Now, he finds himself hopelessly lost in the place.  He loves being lost.

There’s a decent field he finds just beyond the shore he had beached himself on.  Reasonably hungry, Fin makes his way slowly through the tall grasses, chomping as he goes. He’s utterly alone and rather discouraged at his quiet re-entry to Beqanna until he sees a pair of ladies in the near distance.  With a compass to finally guide him, he plods in their direction.  Poor Ma would have a lot to say about me chasing girls, wouldn’t she now?  But he doesn’t make it to them.  There’s the crunch of other feet and he turns -

He hears the cough and the crunch of a rough landing and swivels his ears to track the aftermath.  His head follows in short order, and when he sees the new girl who has fallen from the sky, he finds himself now surrounded by Beqannians instead of hopelessly alone.  

A grin twists his lips at her rather dramatic entrance.  But just as Finian is moving forward to greet her, she brushes by him and heads for a small pool just beyond.  He had seen the pool before, but it was merely a shallow dip between one rise of the field and the next.  Probably it is filled and emptied depending on the variability of the local rainfall.  It is nothing like the tide pools of home. Seeing it reminds him of his fryhood, though.  He remembers cavorting through the rough wavebreak with his friends, wearing himself ragged, and then curling up in the sun-warmed tide pools and sleeping alongside the starfish. He remembers the cold brine in the wind as it lifted and tangled the dual hairs of his mane, the clinking of the seashells already caught in his hair as if it were a net at sea.  He remembers the hard clash of the ocean and the soft breath of his mother wuffing in his face and waking him.  Ah, the things he will miss if he stays here.

The mare seems to enjoy this pool, at least.  He watches her with his curious seafoam eyes.  She goes to the water easily, unwinds within it as if spilling her secrets to an old friend.  It is then that the acrid scent of fire and ruin reaches his nostrils and her intent becomes clearer.  Water is a balm whereas fire is blight.  He curls his lip in disgust even as understanding begins to grip him.  He can see the moment she teeters on the edge of wanting to dissolve into the water, to let loose her composure and sink into the mud that is surely under her feet.  Somehow, she remains standing instead. 

Her resolve is admirable even if her voice betrays her. “S’all right.  Don’t worry ‘bout me.”  Fin moves toward the bank of the pool, stopping only when his front hooves are wetted by the disturbed water.  His normally jovial mood is absent in present company – even he knows a time and place, mostly. “Wha’ about you?  Are you all right, lass?”  He tilts his head to take her in with a more critical eye.  “Looks like you’re the holder of an unfortunate story.  I’m right sorry for it.” 
 
Just as he’s going to tell her she can maybe tell him one day, that this day should be spend recovering, they are joined by another.  This one is a male, and Finian is disappointed to find that he’s not the only stallion in the land after all.  He nods in the stranger’s direction when he reveals Oceane’s name but not his own.  “Never well when a pretty lady is hurtin’.  But thanks anyhow.”  He’s no knight, but some kind of protectiveness bubbles up within him. The earth-toned stallion seems to know Oceane to some extent – maybe they can both get her home?  “Name’s Finian.  This is only my second day here in this land.  Wha’ happened?”

Her smile makes him feel better.  Not a lot, but it is a start.

It is not the gut-busting heartiness he is used to procuring from his audience.  He is rather a scholar of smiles, is used to being the source of them, and knows that the one Oceane sends his way is not his best work.  It is obvious that she is hurting more deeply than a perfect stranger can easily resolve.  It is clear that his humor – the sword he has used to slay many a dragon – is ill-suited in this instance.  Finian knows water too, though.  The way she lets the water hold her is telling of the gravity that would otherwise pull her down outside of her safe pool.  He’s been there himself and the water has never drowned him.

The opalescent woman turns to the other man – Leilan, he learns – and Finian is quiet watching them, listening to the cadence of familiarity between them.  My boy.  The Isle.  So she’s a mother, then.  And Leilan?  Is he charged with watching her son as a ward of his home?  Fin has heard of such different customs from some of the other lands he has traveled to.  It would be inconceivable in his homeland, the thought of children leaving the nest so early.  When he was but a fry, his Ma threatened to tie his tail to the biggest and deepest coral to keep him from ever leaving the shoal.  He laughed then (as he was wont to do often and emphatically), but he couldn’t know how he’d break his mother’s heart by leaving only a few short years later. 

Shaking away his own demons, the pale stallion readies himself to deal with someone else’s.  He hasn’t come to Beqanna on some mission or hero’s journey.  He had come back because something in the land spoke to him of a potential adventure waiting just around the next cliffside or under the next wave.  The Mountain, with its imposing façade and shroud of fog spiraling around the peak, told him that he could share in a greater story than he could have otherwise imagined.  And now, here in front of him, could be the first chapter waiting to be written.

He’s no knight, but maybe he can be the jester bringing some joy and light back into their soot-darkened world.

“I’ll help,” he says sooner than he knows what he is committing to.  “I don’t know this land – you’ll have ‘ta show me what’s right side up and upside down – but I’ll help.”  Finian meets Oceane’s gaze with his own, holding it like a tether in rough seas, an anchor if she’ll take it.  He turns to Leilan then, too, shifting his leathery wings to a more comfortable and looser position.  “You too, if you need it that is.”  He rolls his shoulders in a shrug.  “I’ll follow Oceane first and find you next.”  Fin shifts his attention back to the water-bound woman.  “No one should ever have ‘ta walk through the aftermath alone.”