I can picture every move that a man could make

[Ilian]

Sundown, you better take care The wind tasted as fresh and vibrant as any spring wind that blew across his homeland. Buzzing, thrumming, moving air ran the tips of its fingers along the grasses that caressed his stomach, but the touch was not foreign to him. The same type of rabbits scurried from the thundering of his hooves and the same, condescending blue jays perched on the branches, plump with blossoms. Yet, the newness of the land made him grin like a fool. He charmed the blue jay, chased the rabbits, moved his lips in a vibrato in tune with the air. Soil pulled from the ground as he high-stepped, the gleeful fool, ears pricked and nostrils open, greedily sucking the wind from the grasses.  Alas, poor glee, he knew it well. The man had a talent for such discoveries. The fool! Hopeless was he, this pleasant rover, for hardships nor tragedy nor the cold grasp of nature could phase him. What worry had he, this second-born son of a second-born son? What melancholy could change him, this spare of a spare? Haplessly, he settled himself beneath the stretched limbs of a tree where a family of winged creatures rustled about their nests. The great gray body relaxed as the weariness of his travels overcame him.  Such pleasant winds..such graceful grasses... The world has been built for such moments. Sometimes I think it's a shame When I get feelin' better when I'm feelin' no pain Sundown you better take care

[Jhene]

As the warmth of spring spreads through Beqanna, Jhene can all but feel her spirits do something similar. She fills warmer, fuller, happier. She does not have words for the sensation, but the palomino mare strongly suspects that the emotion is something akin to homecoming. What her parents had felt on the island, she thinks, but she feels it for the hilly realm.

The winged mare has left Loess this afternoon, has travelled south to the common lands. There is more conversation to be had here, time to talk with the rest of Beqanna, gossip to be spread. The forest is where she had learned that her Ivar was king of Loess, not simply a resident. It is where she had heard of the burning of Sylva and the rumor that Ischia was under a new regime. Since Jhene has always loved to know things, she will always end up back here eventually.

This time it is to the meadow, the sun bright and cheery overhead. The palomino’s wings are tucked tightly at her sides, the pale feathers groomed pristinely. Their ivory color is a stark contrast to the dark amber of her horns, twin spires of twisted cartilage. They end in sharp tips, which is at odds with the sweet smile on the mare’s blazed face. Her eyes are grey like the shore of Nerine, grey like the coat of the stallion that is lounging against a tree.

His aura of contentment is what draws her closer; Jhene wonders just how he can seem so very happy.

“Hello!” She calls out from the edge of the tree’s shade. They are far enough away that she hopes to have not startled him, but close enough that she can be heard through the chatter of the birds overhead. “I’m Jhene!”