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It had been quieting to be with her.
It had quelled the loneliness in his chest to be near her, although he would never admit it. She had been a burr that seemingly stuck to his skin and in those moments, he had realized that it would be difficult to shake her. It had surprised him to know that he was not overly bothered by the fact. If he was going to be stuck with someone, he figured there were worse companions than the curious, wide-eyed mare.
But then—then, everything changed.
The earth had shook loose between them and the air had smelled of fire and magic, crackling along the edges with powers beyond his comprehension. He had cried out, reaching for her, but she was already gone. And then he was gone too, knocked unconscious. He had slept fitfully, his dreams punctuated by the sound of her scream and the tempo of chaos. When he had awoken, the Tundra had been gone.
The land of ice and solitude, the only home he had ever known, had been ripped from him. He had stood shakily, his muscles aching as if he had run for miles, and looked around him. It was beautiful up there and quiet in a way he had never experienced, not even in the belly of the Tundra where ice had replaced companions. This was a suffocating silence, a forceful reminder; he had felt shaken to his core.
The trek down the mountain had been quick. It had been similar to finding his way across the icy plains in the Tundra and he reminded himself of the lessons he had learned as a colt: move slow, watch your step, be careful. Lessons that had, at one point, been painful, but were now useful. Lessons that carried his heavy build down the mountain with few bumps and bruises to show for it minus the ache in his bones.
Of course, the lack of physical hurt did not quell the concern that had settled deep into his marrow. He had no family of note to find, no friends to care about his well-being—only the bay mare who had shaken his sense of solitude. She had family, he told himself. She had others to look out for her well-being, but he could not stop himself from looking for her. He wandered the forest, moving quietly amongst the bodies and feeling his skin crawl from the proximity. He had never been around this many horses before—ever.
At one point, panic rose in his throat and he reached for the invisibility to hide himself. But it had not come. He mentally called for it louder, commanding the ability that had always been second nature to him. But it had not responded. It was then that he realized that he felt—different. Had felt different ever since he had left the region around the mountain. Craning his neck around, he ruffled his wings and his eyes widened when he saw that his right wing was…stronger. Larger. As a test, he extended them both by his side and felt a joy rip through him when they unfurled powerfully, each side a match for the other.
The joy, however, was cut short. His wings may be unaffected, if not boosted, but his invisibility was cut from him; what did that mean for his immortality? He certainly felt different. Time felt less fluid, more concrete; the electricity that had once hummed inside of him had dimmed. He laughed, the sound harsh in his mouth. How often had he worried about preserving that piece of him? How long had he secluded himself to protect the one gift that carried any real weight? And it had all been for nothing.
In the end, it had been ripped from him anyway.
Confusion raced through him—peace melding with acceptance pouring into bitterness.
And it was like that he found her. Alone, washed with the silver light of the moon. The familiar bone wound into her mane and next to it a single feather. His feather, he realized with a jolt. “Australis?” he called as he made his way toward her, his voice rusty from the day of silence. He walked up to her, suddenly awkward—vulnerable with the armor of his gifts stripped from him. “Are you okay?”
tobiah