For the first time in a long time, Nemeon lets himself daydream about having a family. He knows that this is what autumn means across Beqanna, knows that this is when the foals that will arrive in spring are made. It has always been far too dangerous of a thing for him to contemplate - but maybe not anymore. Maybe not once his quest is completed and, hopefully, he returns to the mountain successful.

As with all things that would make him happy, Nemeon tries his best not to dwell on it. As though thinking too much about something he wants will mean it is less likely to happen. If he wants it too much, fate might twist it out of his grasp.

And it is not even just having a family, it is all the small ways he could be close to someone - he could receive comfort from a new friend and not cause them pain, he could quietly graze near someone without having to move constantly to avoid rotting the plants he touches. He could learn to not be so very Aware of every inch that he takes up so that he can make sure he never comes close to touching someone else.

He lets these pleasant maybe-futures swell into his brain as the sun rises, allows them to distract him from that still-present fear when his skin begins to harden into stone.

It would be nice to think he gets a day full of these warm dreams as his stone-self stands there on the edge of the forest and ruins - instead of the reality. He is just stone.

He is empty and motionless as the sun passes across the sky and, as it does every day despite his occasional doubts, eventually dips towards the horizon. He doesn't feel the faint drizzle that occurs in the afternoon before the clouds break up and leave wisps that turn brilliant reds and oranges during the sunset.

Until when that last golden sliver disappears, and he transforms from stone to flesh - and inhales his first deep breath of cool evening air.

It doesn’t happen often where Nemeon wakes and finds someone immediately in his vicinity. More often he finds smaller animals - birds that have started to make a nest in a sheltered spot on his body (luckily for him, a single night has never proven long enough for the building and the laying of eggs, or he may never be capable of moving again). Once there were fox kits roughhousing around his legs and it had taken a skilled dance to get out of there without stepping on the spooked youngsters.

The nightly ritual of a deep inhale turns into a low, surprised shout - and his wings flare just slightly - when his golden eyes latch onto the figure of a twilight mare who, for just a moment, appears hazy. But then he blinks and she is solid, and he realizes she is not posing a threat to him.

And he feels guilty for scaring her, even though he had no control over anything that occurred before that sun set - guilt is practically instinctual for him at this point.

He settles, though his heart beats wildly in his chest from the shock for a while longer still, and can understand her thought process even as she trails off - he has no idea how many others can do what he can, but so far he has not heard of any and he can only imagine how strange it must be to see.

“It’s almost like sleep, I suppose. I feel rested, but it is involuntary - and I do not think I can dream.” If there are stone-dreams, they wait for him exclusively during the day, and are nothing compared to what he might dream if he decided to waste his precious night-hours with a nap.

“I’m sorry for startling you.” He offers, sincerely, before turning his head slightly to catch the remaining signs of colour still in the western sky - a daily ritual, one he can't quite leave behind even with company.