Welcome to Gaia! ::

Kasim stood on the sandy bluff, eyes narrowed in concentration as he watched the caravan creep across the desert. The sun was barely keeping above the dip of the dunes,and soon would be swallowed by the ever-hungry desert. That was when he would strike.

Tonight, Kasim worked alone. A sore shoulder was his current reminder of a soured alliance. He had parted ways with the older thief after he had received a swift kick when the stallion had found the coins he had kept tucked in the folds of his tack. Kasim had been expecting a double-cross, and had learned to keep secrets for just such an occasion. The stallion had accused him of lying to him, stealing from him. Life was often a cruel twist for Kasim. Had he not kept some spoils to himself, he likely would have been cut off from all the profit. And the hatred and words that the stallion had spit were not new to the crossbreed. He had learned things from the older stallion, though, and Kasim took what he could from this world.

Now, though, he hesitated to consider himself fortunate. The caravan was small - though there were guards. Certainly, they must be protecting something vaulable. And Kasim did have one advantage that many of the other nomads and thieves lacked. The very things that had earned him so much hatred, and kasim sometimes thought, Jealousy - his wings.

As soon as the sun was consumed, Kasim took to flight, heading for the cart.

Durriyah was bored, lazily scratching her rear on the corner of the shaded cart she was in, being transported to some unseen location. Sure, it was unladylike, but no one was watching. Well, no one besides her father, who kept giving her disapproving stares through the slotted window from the outside. This horse-stall on wheels was hot and uncomfortable; though shaded from the searing sun, the heat was nearly suffocating. Thankfully the sun was settling, and perhaps she would be granted a reprieve.

She shook her head, the layers of finely crafted jewelry making a windchime like song. She had always been treated like some sort of exotic, delicate flower - being groomed and cultivated from the moment she was able to stand herself on her small golden hooves. She was brushed three times a day, and always got the finest food. But today was the first time she could remember even being so trussed up. She was decked to the nines in bright jewelry and fine silk. Her mane and tail, which perviously had always been kept in an elaborate braid to keep it from tangling for being pulled or broken, had been released, polished, and dressed. She was being chosen, she had been told, for a very important task.

As the desert was being shrouded in twilight, Durriyah heard the voices of the humans outside pick up. Her ears swiveled forward, suddenly at attention. Something was happening! Her heart skipped a beat, having been begging for something to break the endless scene of infinite sand dunes. She strained to see out the window of her cart.

"Stay back," snapped her father, before the human that was riding him pulled her away and out of sight.

The sun had sunk beneath the horizon when Kasim took to the skies. The sands were still hot from the day's sun, and warm currents were easy to catch. If he was lucky, the eyes of the guards of the cart would take some time to adjust to the fading light. It was at this time of day, Kasim had an advantage.

With a loud whinny, Kasim announced himself high above the figures below, spreading his wings wide. If he were lucky, he could use that fear and prejudice slung against him to intimidate them. The signature demonic outline of his wings had more than once allowed him to make off with vaulables without ever having to enter a skirmish.

The men and soquili alike looked up and began to shout to one another. He could smell the tinge of fear as they scrambled, some shouting demon! or Jinn! and turning to flee. Others, gripped weapons and gathered around the cart - inside of which must have been whatever valuables they were transporting. However, they had not been expecting an attack from above.

To add to the intimidation and show, Kasim dropped a few of the pots he had secured to his sash onto the ground. They split open, and the chemicals mixed, causing fire and smoke.

From inside the caravan, Durriyah heard the shouts and screams, and suddenly acrid smoke filled her nose.

For a time, there was shouting, and then, a banging at the door to her cart.

Two. Three. Four, and then... the latch broke open and standing outside was a dark stallion, billowing scarves, a blade catching the light of the fires outside. Spread behind him were two large wings.

However, his bright eyes that shone in the light opened wide.

This... Kasim had not expected. Inside the caravan protected by guards was no treasure of gems or spices... but a shimmering mare. Her body was the purest white, and a long, elegant horn as golden as the jewelry she was adorned with. That jewelry was alone probably worth enough to feed him for months. He swallowed. And for once, he hesitated.


Durriyah whinnied nervously as the commotion outside raged on. She paced on her hooves, not having hardly any room to move. When the banging on the door to her wagon started, her heart jumped into her throat. She was frightened, sure... but her whole body tingled with excitement. The door burst open, a cloud of acrid smoke billowing in, making her shake her head and blink her eyes. Finally a dark figure materialized, his cloak billowing out behind him, large black wings framing his figure.

The young mare felt the breath leave her lungs as she stared, her large ice blue eyes shining in the dim light; her face slightly obscured by a thin veil of silk. She took a hesitant step back, her body bumping the back of the cart, causing another chime-like tinkle of her adornments.

There was a weighty pause as Kasim realized the situation he had stumbled upon. The treasure, the precious cargo that these guards were protecting was her. It was heading towards the capital city, the heart of the country.

The mare's glittering gold jewelry were a treasure alone, though he could not afford the time to remove them now. And beyond that, she would probably be worth ten times that in a ransom. Kasim's lips tightened and he glanced behind him. He did not know how long his window of opportunity would last; he would have to move quickly.

"Come. We move now. If you value your life you will do as I say." He ordered the slight mare.


Durriyah's mouth gaped; opening to say something, but having the words die in her throat. She couldn't fight - she wouldn't know the slightest idea what to do, and he would easily overpower her. She could not flee and risk damaging her golden hooves, or breaking her pristine hair; even if she felt she had the power to outrun him anyway. He had wings like some kind of demon, allowing him to be unhindered by the desert sands.

And perhaps there was something more... a dark curiosity that he was tapping in to. Her body seemed to react on her own without her fully willing it to; following the bandit out of the wagon, keeping close to his side.

Good, Kasim thought to himself with no small measure of relief. She was coming with him without a struggle. He did not want to have to threaten or hurt this fragile desert flower if he did not need to. It would... diminish her value, he justified to himself.

He pointed at her with his long horn, and quickly motioned out of the cart with a swipe.

The air was hot, choked with smoke and stirred up sand. Spots of blazing oil dashed the ground around them, and there were distant whinnies and screams and shouts as the men of the caravan were attempting to regain control and composure from the attack.

Kasim hurried the shining mare along. he knew a hide-away not very far from there. A small cave in the rock on the other side of the dunes that looked like nothing more than a shadow on the dunes from afar. The fires would not last long, they had to move.

"Come, this way!" Kasim goaded her from behind, wanting to watch her as they traveled so that she did not escape.



Durriyah's eyes darted around, trotting to keep up with her captor's instructions. Father...?. She dared not speak out, but this did not mean she wished him harm. She scanned the scene the best she could, but took seeing no fallen bodies as a good sign.

She hesitated when he ordered her into the cave, her metallic hooves shifting uncomfortably as she tried to peer into the cramped space. It was dank, dirty. Her fun already felt itchy and full of sand, and the ends of her hair were fraying and soiling in a very distressing manner. She looked back to the bandit, her eyes pleading.

As they dashed in the direction that Kasim had indicated, the unwrapped tip of his tail brushed the ground behind them, obscuring their hoofprints in the sand. There was a function to the wrappings around most of his tail, and the length he kept it.

Finally, they were in the clear and Kasim breathed a sigh of relief, his muscles still warm and heart still racing from the excitement of raid and the thrill of success. He gave his wings a great flap and tossed his mane, sending his clothing rustling and shaking much of the sand from his body. Finally, he gave his tail a flick and regarded the pearly mare.

He stepped forward boldly, looking her over with his eyes. Here in the caves, they were far from the fires on the ground of the caravan, and had the sun been able to find this crevice in the sandy rock even during the day, it certainly could not now. His pale eyes cast over her body, taking in the perfect proportions, the gleaming white fur that looked as if it has never gone more than a day without meticulous grooming. Her body almost glowed in the darkness of the cave and she seemed almost unreal - like a veil drifting along the winds. Kasim had never seen a mare so ... perfect.

He swallowed, ducking his head to his side and pulling the scimitar from the draping belt over his flanks. He eyed her, and for a short time, it looked as if he might use that blade on the mare. But then, he turned, clanging the blade against the wall. it seemed nonsensical at first, until a spark from the blade fell upon a small dish of oil beneath it and a small fire illuminated the room.

This was obviously his hideout. In the corners of the room were sacks of wheat, pouches, spilled coins and a few bits of jewelry. Straw was scattered against the far wall, and a few piles of blankets.

It was miles from the pampered existance that Durriyah was used to. It was dirty, sandy, and the things were old, ragged, and there was a slight odor in the cave - an odd blend of mildew and must with a hint of the exotic spices that had been stored here.



Durriyah was used to being stared out. Rather it be by curious humans, jealous mares, or interested stallions, she didn't go many places without being noticed. She held her head high as he regarded her, tho... for the first time in her young life she felt like his eyes were piercing her, looking deeper into her than most of the glazed-eyed stares she was used to. His eyes were so intense, illuminating his dark face... her heavy tail twitched, sweeping the floor as it piled around her hooves.

She made the first sound since their meeting when he flailed the scimitar at her. It wasn't a scream, but just a quick yelp of surprise. She took a few steps back, shaking her head. As the oil caught fire, her gold flashed brilliantly in the flickering light as she heaved her body in a sigh of relief. She took a few hesitant steps in, giving him a quizzical look. Certainly this isn't where he expected her to stay...was it?

Once more, Kasim's attention returned to the mare. ANd now that a warm glow was cast across his cave-home, he could see her all the better. She was no longer cast in the shadows of a dim stall, or moving quickly. He could truly take in the equisite beauty. It was as if she were carved from a piece of alabaster or ivory. She seemed to pristine to be alive. Kasim doubted she had ever had to do a hard day's work in her life.

Kasim began to doubt. He had not shown this personal hideaway to others - he had not trusted them. But this was no piece of treasure, this was a living, breathing mare. And now she knew the location of his hideout. An ear flicked back.

He chewed on a lip, thinking. She was nervous, and looked out of place in his home. "Where were they taking you?" He asked bluntly, feeling strange speaking to her. He had never done something like this before - kidnapping. He didn't want to ask her name - he was merely planning on selling her back for a reward - she was an object of value. That... that was all.



"I don't know exactly." Her voice was as crystal and musical as the chime-like chorus of her adornments. "To the palace, for something very important." She gave a definitive nod, parroting back only exactly what she had been told as well. Everyone seemed to think her travelling to the capitol city was a major call for pomp and circumstance; and everyone Soquili and human alike seemed peaked with excitement - except her mother and father. Mother forced a smile when she left, and kept showing her with compliments; how proud she was, how happy she was... but the pain her eyes had not gone unnoticed by the young mare. Her mother was not going with her for her visit, so she tried to ask her Father what all the fuss was about.

Her father was a strong and handsome warrior - coming from an ancient line of proud desert-striders. He once showed Durriyah a think book that the humans kept that had the names of his father, his father's father, and so on for hundreds of years. Of course Durriyah couldn't read the human scrawling, but she took her father for his word. He was a stoic stallion, not showing much emotion ever, even during all the fuss of her visit to the palace. When she asked him why Mother seemed so upset, he simply told her that she had been chosen for something important, and she should know her mother was very proud of her.


Kasim frowned to himself. She didn't even know why she was going there? He huffed to himself. "Well, you were being transported as if you were some grand treasure." Kasim commented wryly.

"Shaded in that cart as if the sun would melt you or the wind blow you away."

He looked over the layers of gold jewelry. "You know, you are wearing enough gold to feed a family for years." He said disdainfully. "Where did you come across such prizes?"

He stepped closer to her, still inspecting her carefully. "I am sure that there are those that would pay handsomely to get you back."


The proud mare puffed her chest out, "Well I am!" she insisted, lightly stamping her front golden hoof on the straw-covered floor of stone. At her comment about her jewelry she seemed to pause, blinking her eyes and tilting her head before looking down at herself, watching the jewelry glint in the light. "I wouldn't know..." she admitted, "My food is always brought to me."

She narrowed her eyes at his last comment. "That's not fair!"

Kasim snorted derisively. "Brought to you." He echoed with disdain. "Well aren't you the lucky one. I bet that you have never had to pull a cart or work for your food either." He flicked an ear back, looking over the meager supplies that he had managed to collect. The stallion's coat was rough, flecked with sweat and sand, and crossed with scars. But in places under the folds of his clothing, she might be able ot make out ribs stretching his sides.

"Not fair?" He loosed a whinnying laugh. "Life is not fair, my shining one. Though I suppose you have been sheltered from this cruel wisdom."

He paced back and forth a few paces by the entrance, the gears in his head turning. He would have to get a message to those that would pay money for her return.

"No..." she said, feeling a bit ashamed and not knowing exactly why. She was never expected to, or asked to. She looked over at him and frowned, her eyes scanning over the lean establishment.

"Do you need food? I can ask Father if he can give you some, too."

Kasim's ears flicked back irately. "I will not beg for food or accept pittiances from the likes of him. He would likely soon as trample me as look at me. The dark stallion sneered.

"Besides. I have plenty to eat here." He responded defensively.

"You will stay here for a few days." He declared. "I will see to it that arrangements are made to negotiate your ... safe return."


"Oh..." Durriyah's ears dropped down as she cowed back a bit.

She gave the room another skeptical look when he said that there was plenty of food; and that she would have to stay there for a few days. She wanted to protest, but stopped herself, suddenly seeming to realize how insensitive that might sound.

She walked around, sniffing about the straw, finally finding the remnants of a rug crumpled in the corner. She pawed it out onto the ground before daintily settling down onto it, tucking her legs under her.


There were a few older bags that sat sadly in the corner that might contain grains or straw. But it was certainly nothing like Durriyah was accustomed to.

The rug as well, was battered, and itchy underneath her.

"Make yourself comfortable." He spoke softly to her; it was difficult to determine if it was sarcastic or not. "I have business to deal with."

He did not believe she would leave. She was naieve, and certianly did not know her way around the desert. "I would advise you stay here. Those lost in the desert soon find themselves without water... lost. The days are burning hot with the dust stinging your eyes. The nights are bitterly cold and can steal the warmpth from your body. Here. I have water. I have food. And shelter from the elements."

And with that, he strode out, obscuring the entrance, and went to make arrangements.

Firestorm was brimming with pride as sailed into the herdgrounds, the wind in his wings. Adeptly, he made a large arc barely ten feet above the ground over the heads of grazing herdmembers, many of whom looked up with glares at the hotheaded young stallion as he buzzed overhead.

Finally, he touched down, folding his wings with an overt gesture a few feet away from where Stormwild and Balrog had been standing.

With a prideful grin, he shook out his mane. "Sorry if I interrupted your nap." He started sarcastically. "But I was... you know, out. There's land outside our little herdland hideaway."

Stormwild swiveled her ears forward. "Of course there is," she said, trying not to feed into his sarcasm. She took a sigh, and shook out her own mane a bit. His comment and all its intended implications bit a bit close to home for her: she had been feeing her age recently. She felt heavy and moody... and watching FIrestorm flit around above her head with all his grace and enthusiasm that youth brings made her uncomfortably jealous. When he was a baby, Storm had happily taken the colt under her wing... but as he grew older, more independent, and sassy - her patience with him ran thin. Every glint of the sunlight off his long horn, or stomp of his distinctly stockinged legs struck a chord deep within Stormwild.

"This is still your home," she said to him pointedly. "You should stay for a while this time. You have sisters and herdmates who love your company."


Balrog rustled his wings with a leveled look at Firestorm. The young stallion was testing them, Balrog was well aware of this fact. He tested Balrog's tenuous patience, flaunted his gifts and strength, and seemed to never be satisfied. He never understood just how hard Balrog had fought for this land, how he had collected this group of the strongest soquili. Just how priviledged he truly was to have the best herdgrounds that Balrog had ever seen: Sheltered, protected, and fertile. Balrog would defend it with his life. A part of him almost wished for the opportunity, because it would be a chance to prove his mettle - and the mettle of his carefully chosen herdmembers.

"what is so important, Firestorm?" Balrog rumbled, his mannerisms declaring a warning for his son's deliberate carelessness.



"Pfft." Firestorm responded with an irreverant puff of air in his bangs. "all they do is sit and eat." Firestorm rolled his eyes. "There are wide blue skies, waterfalls... challenge and excitement out there!" His neighed.

"Maybe if they shared my enthusiasm, they'd come with me. But! No. At least I found someone who did." He gave his parents a toothy smile, teasing, taunting, waiting for them to inquire.



"Spring is coming," Stormwild said to her adopted son. "Hopefully there will be foals coming soon, they have greater responsibilities to the herd than gallivanting around." Her ears flicked back at the mention of this elusive 'someone.' There was a flutter of both anticipation, and jealousy, at the prospect of Firestorm taking a mate. She longed for the sound of more foals around her herd... though she had yet to muster the mettle to bring it back up with Balrog. They were on good terms, make no mistake, just Storm was not completely sure where they stood on that aspect of their relationship since he had sired foals with Anemone. He seemed happy with Firestorm - a strong stallion with wings and more...

She snorted with a sigh, this was not the time to get lost in her own meandering thoughts. Please, she found herself silently asking of the Wind itself, say he's bringing home a nice winged mare. She feared the anger and arguing that would ensure from Balrog if not.

"So who is this someone you speak of, Firestorm?"



Firestorm rolled his shoulders. He wasn't going to knock the responsibility of raising foals, especially considering his intentions with Shinoma... but he cared little for the pleasantries of talking with his relatives about more pending relatives. The lovey-dovey relationships of some of the couples. With Shinoma, it was different. It was exciting, electrifying, challenging.

Thinking of her made him grin.

"She's fantastic. Not at all like you guys. She's daring, bold, and fierce!" He spread his wings for emphasis. He darted his eyes around quickly, as if to make sure she wasn't somewhere nearby and listening. She would probably scoff if she heard him praise her. With the two of them, it was a contest, and he didn't want to seem weak to her by lauding her praises.

"She taught me how to hunt, you know!" He sniffed. Sure, he didn't actually like the taste of the meat like she did, but chasing after animals was a thrill. Long before Balrog had shown him how to defend their territory from cougars, he had hunted a rabbit with the filly.

"Her name is Shinoma, and she's not like anyone around here, that's for sure. Her wings are smokey, and shaped like a bat - but she can fly just as well as I can." Firestorm made sure to mention her wings proudly. He knew his father's ideals, and he shared them. He would never lower himself to associating with a weaker soquili, one that could not fly.

Balrog listened, his brow creasing as he mentioned a hunt. Did he mean chasing off predators that might prey on the young foals? But his demeanor relaxed a bit when he mentioned her wings. He let go of the air that he had been subconsciously holding onto.

Smokey bat-wings? This sounded odd to the stallion, but there were soquili that he had welcomed to his herd with strange wings - wings like bugs - but who had proved themselves worthy of the skies and able to maneuver their alpine herdgrounds.

Stormwild listened on next to her mate, her tail flicking behind her . Her brows creased and a frown tugged at her mouth as he continued however. Balrog's sigh of relied only discontented her more - did he not realize what his prince son was speaking of.

"Wait," she finally said, stepping forward. "Hunt? Wings of a bat? Firestorm are you consorting with kalona?" She shook her head, not liking where this conversation was going one bit.


Firestorm scowled at his step-mother's disapproval. She had wings. His father seemed satisfied by that fact. So why did his mother of all soquili - who he had heard had consorted with a ground soquili once before she knew better - the one to look shocked.

"I don't know." Firestorm tried to make the admission of ignorance sound like a retort instead of an admission. "She has wings. And she has more spirit than half the fat, lazy soquili around here! I LIKE her. And she gets me." His tail flicked

Balrog had been happy to hear that his son had enough sense in his head to at least choose a worthy mate, but all of the insults about their herd was driving a nail into his hoof.

"You do not speak about your herd like that. You come from the strongest herd in the lands, and if you cannot see that that is good enough, then you are blind and have not seen enough of the world around you to make such a judgment.

"Firestorm, you can do so much better," Stormwild chided, trying to swallow her anger after the tirade of insults. "You have no business with their bloody kind... hunting? Really, son. That's below you. Maybe... maybe you and Arcana can spend some time together. She needs a nice... uh, stable stallion life yourself. It would be good ... for both of you."


Firestorm flattened his ears with a sneer. "Arcana?" He winced. The little fluttercorn was ... special. Nervous and awkward, and always seemed to have a knack at sayin the wrong thing to everyone.

"You don't even know her!" Firestorm protested. "And Arcana? Geez, Stormwild, what do you take me for? Pushing me towards that charity case?" He didn't care who heard him.

Balrog looked to Stormwild, brow furrowed. "Bloody kind..?" Balrog had encountered little of the other races of soquili other than the ones that had found homes in their herd. He had not heard of the legends of the Kalona.

"Watch your tongue, Firestorm," she said harshly, taking a step towards him. "Every member of this herd should be treated like family, something you have a terrible time understanding. Everything isn't always about you - you have a responsibility to this whole herd. Especially being the son of the Alphas. You should take your position deathly serious - from the words you speak to the mate you choose - it effects all of us."


"You're not my REAL mother, and you can't tell me what to do!" The words flew from Firestorm's mouth like wasps. His eyes burned with indignance. "And you're right - I AM important! I can make my own decisions. I'm not a foal any more! I know what's good for me - and it's Shinoma!" His wings began to spread.

"Don't speak to your mother like that!" Balrog raised his voice to a crashing thunder.

Firestorm just glared. "And you! You think you're so powerful? You're SCARED!" He retorted at Balrog. "You're scared to leave your magical herdgrounds where you might meet some REAL powerful Soquili." He grinned cockily. "I AM strong, Father. Congradulations. And I've got the courage to face that world!"

"I am, too, your mother!" Stormwild bellowed back, stomping her hooves on the ground. "You have no business out there. Your world is the herd! Do you hear me? You will respect - if not me - your father and learn your place! And that's here with your herd and your family and not risking damaging your whole bloodline by dealing with dangerous flesh eaters!"


Firestorm's wings snapped open. "I don't have to take this from either of you!" Firestorm shouted back. "I'll SHOW you that I know what I'm doing!" The words were just tumbling out of his mouth without bothering to check in with his head. Firestorm was furious.

Without even stepping back, his wings began to beat, stirring up a wind in the glade and Firestorm lifted off the ground.

"You'll see!" He shouted down at them as he took off.

"FIRESTORM! You get back here!" Balrog shouted up at his son. "This is your home!"

But Firestorm wasn't listening any more. He was gaining his speed, and flying out towards the waterfall at the edge of their territory.


Stormwild's wings snapped open as well, but she restrained herself from flying after the hot-headed young stallion. She gave a heavy sigh, and shook out her mane. "Let him go," she said calmingly to Balrog, gently touched his back with her outstretched wings. "He'll be back... he just needs to blow off steam."

She was quiet for a few moments "I'm worried about this kalona girl," she said, looking to him.



Balrog, indeed, was about to take to the skies himself to try to force Firestorm to land, but at the touch of his mate, he flattened his ears and rustled his wings, returning them to his sides.

"I hope you are right." Balrog rumbled. "But Firestorm is strong. I may not know much about her, but I'm sure he can handle a mare."

"It isn't a matter of strength," she said, a bit incredulous that he wasn't as upset as she was about this - especially since Balrog was so obsessed with the unity and strength of their herd. "Kalona come from demonic heritages, they are corrupt. They feast on the flesh of animals - I've even heard other Soquili. They come from the underworld."


"Demons?" Balrog asked incredulously, with only a hint of skepticism creeping into his voice. He had never known Stormwild to judge, but there was honest horror and disgust in her words. An ear flicked back indecisively. But he had confidence in his bloodline, in Firestorm's strength, as much as the young, hotheaded stallion aggravated him. And secretly, deep down, a part of Balrog thirsted for the challenge. He had shouted one to the heavens many months ago. Had they heard his call? ... Did he regret it?

"I think I should like to see one of these demons. See if their stories live up to the reality." A smug smile settled on his lips. Balrog may not have been a spring stallion any more, but he was seasoned, experienced, and knew these lands better than any other. Woe be it to any who challenged him or threatened his herd.





The days passed, and there was no word from Firestorm. Balrog seemed to be distracting himself by scouring the Kawani lands for these demonic Kalona he learned of, while Stormwild was left milling about the herdlands, feeling fat and useless. She wished, just for once, that Balrog and herself would see eye-to-eye on... something. She had no doubt in her mind that Firestorm was strong enough to "handle" a kalona mare, but if was the offspring she worried about. Would Firestorm try to bring his new mate in as part of the herd? If not, would he bring the baskets back to the mountain? Would she allow that? Or would the kalona steal off with them? This worried Storm the most. She already had too many sons and daughters (and grandchildren) lost to her... she didn't want to lose any more. She wanted them here... in their herdlands.

Or was Firestorm done with them forever?

She doubted that was the case... but his mother was obviously a flaky mare with no sense of loyalty. Why would Firestorm be any different?

But after nearly a week without Firestorm, Sequoyah and Xandir made their way up the mountain with disturbing news: skinwalker attacks were on the rise.

There was a smudgy black skinwalker that had lurked around the mountain base for a while, but apparently he was spotted several times with a more brightly colored walker wrecking havoc. Thankfully Sequoyah's herd had been expertly defended by Sumi and himself, but the reports of other not-so-lucky Soquili were numerous.

Stormwild nearly made herself sick with worry. She immediately made off - looking for Firestorm and her other lost children. She just had to make sure they were okay... even if she couldn't convince them to come home. Xandir opted to stay with Balrog's herd for the time-being, while Sequoyah went back to his Alpha duties of his own herd at the mountain base.

Stormwild had been gone for many days when the storm hit: A wintery surprise blizzard that hit the high altitudes of the mountain hard.


Balrog had barely returned from one of his increasingly longer scouting missions when the Blizzard was rolling in, effectively grounding him and the rest of the herd. When he learned of Stormwild's departure, anger and frustration boiled inside of him, tinged with a worry that he would not admit to. Between the dangerous predators on the lands, and the blizzard that would likely keep her from the skies, it was a bad situation.

And indeed, even further down into the forest, the heavy snows adeptly penetrated the barren tree boughs. It was as if the land itself was sending a fierce reminder that winter was not over, and that it had at least one more good show of it.

Locating Sequoyah's tribe was not a difficult feat. Their herdlands were stable, situated just down the mountain from the aerial herd. But for all of the white that blanketed the land, there was no telltale flash of red or yellow that might indicate the young stallion that Stormwild searched for.

And as the snows got heavier, so did Stormwild's weight on her feet. Only now did she realize how swollen she had become, and that the roundness of her belly did not indicate a sedentary lifestyle or ample food, but something much more significant...

Even were the blizzard to cease, Stormwild had grown heavy, likely too heavy to take to wing. There were predators out there, and she needed to find baskets, and soon.

And so it was... sometime later Stormwild was hunkered down under a large tree, shielding herself and her baskets from the slowly waning winter winds. She had no idea how she was going to get home with baskets in tow - especially in the snow. But as weak and worried as she was, she nestled around her warm baskets and felt a serene calm wash over her.

But it was to be short-lived. Lurking in the forest not too far away two creatures were following her trail, and the scent of blood in the air...




These were indeed dangerous lands. The stories of two skinwalkers sighted in the region that Stormwild had heard were not the only threats that stalked these frozen woods.

A dark shadow fell over the virgin snow, followed shortly after by a large, pawed foot. Dozens of gleaming red eyes set into dark fur scanned the wastelands,looking for food for himself and the slighter, paler figure that padded quietly by his side.

His mistress.

The hunger that clawed at his belly was a familiar sensation. Freedom was not. And thus, he had easily fallen into the clutching employ of the twisted skinwalker, Kumiho, who now followed behind him as if goading him on with invisible reins.

She, too, was hungry. And if anything, that only made her temper worse.

The kitsune's eyes narrowed as she padded on, a grimace plastered on her face as she followed behind the large, shadowy figure of Cerberus. She did not follow as an act of submission; indeed it was quite the opposite. It allowed to watch his every move, every ear p***k, and every exhale of his hell-hot breath as it fogged in front of him like draconic smoke. She was hungry and uncomfortable, not used to spending so long in her horse form. She preferred the quick, warm, agile, and unassuming form of her fox nature. But now her belly was heavy with foals - forcing her to lumber around in her larger, but more awkward equine shape.

Pregnancy for her was a strange, reeling experience. She felt no maternal warmth for the kicking, heavy bodies inside her; but she did have a vague, intangible feeling of... duty? Perhaps a bit of pride. Some kind of distant satisfaction that the spawn between herself and Cerberus would grow up to be proxies of herself - able to spread her influence behind her mortal capacity.

But on the other hand, the uncomfortable weight, insatiable appetite and raging hormones was maddening. There were times she was barely conscious of her own actions... slipping into the blood-lust of that of her reviled more base skinwalker kin. Every twist of agonizing pain made her so angry at Cerberus for doing this to her she almost ripped his throat out, and she had considered more than one wrenching her unborn children out of her belly herself.

She was teetering on the razor's edge now. She was starving and growing more ill-willed by the second. "Something is close - up ahead," she said lowly to her charge. "I smell blood - I don't care what it is... I want it."



Cerberus didn't turn his head to look back at his mistress as she snarled her demand. He didn't need to. He smelled the blood in the air as well. It was not fresh blood, but whatever had shed it was still nearby. He could sense the heavy horse-smell of a soquili in the frigid air. The snows tended to bring weak, skittish prey. But finding something already injured would be a true boon.

"Of course." Cerberus responded dutifully. He had found it almost too easy to slip back into a subservient manner. When he was roaming these lands purposeless, his mind was in chaos. Everythin seemed to whisper at him, pull him in different directions. The snapping maws on his shoulders barking their hunger, their distrust, and any number of cacaphonous demands or greivances. Kumiho was a single voice to heed. He could just DO.

And of course, the hunger was panging in his belly as well. He could almost taste the horseflesh already.

He drew his wings in tightly to his sides, stepping more quietly and trying to slip his bulk more deftly through the woods so as to not alert whatever morsel lay ahead.

Twenty yards... fourty, sixty... and then, he could make it out - a large dark shape laying on the ground. It was a mare, and a large one at that, with large wings that looked burdoned by the snowfall. But... no... it was more than that. Nestled in around her like the walls of some two-legged fort were baskets. Four of them.


Kumiho stalked up beside him, crouching her head and plastering her ears against the back of her head. Her nostrils flared and her mouth began to salivate at the anticipation of the kill. But as the scene solidified, something moved deep within her... a lurch in her belly and the sudden realization of the opportunity that lay before her. "Wait," she hissed, reaching out and latching to Cerberus's hindquarters with her paw, "The baskets. I need them..." There was a rumble through her stomach at the thought of what a nutritious honeypot they would be. A long, toothy grin spread happily across her pale face. "We need them... by any means possible - but they must stay in tact..."


Cerberus rumbled a growl of assent, not caring if the mare heard him. Exhausted from what looked like a recent birthing, this should prove a simple task. Immediately, he understood what the skinwalker wanted. She would need baskets of her own for the foals that she would be birthing soon... the tiny foals already in these baskets would help theirs grow stronger...

Cerberus didn't think about the consequences or the morality behind what he was about to do. It was a job. It was for his mistress, and for his children. His ears lay back against his furry neck, and he stalked forward with a sickening growl in his throat.




By the time the blizzard had abated enough for Balrog to take to wing, worry was already making him nauseous. Stormwild had been gone far too long, and while the snows had likely kept her grounded wherever she was, he did not like the idea that she had been gone for so long with apparently dangerous creatures on the prowl. He did trust in her strength, but without the advantage of flight, and by herself, anything could have happened.

Balrog spent days searching for his mate. But the lands were vast, and every dark shadow on the ground, or inlet in the rock could hide the mare that he found himself desperately searching for.

Finally, finally, his eagle-eyes spotted a very familiar dark shape with tinges of lavender and purple, nestled down in a small grove in the woods. But it felt as if his stomach would lurch out of his throat when he saw a distinct reddish color staining the snow around her.

He drew his wings in closer and made a quick descent to the small clearing, heart pounding in his chest.

Closer he came, and more horrifying began to unfold. The snow in the clearing was scattered - evidence of a long and brutal fight. Mud and blood was mixed heavily throughout, turning the whole clearing into a brownish battlefield. Strangely, among the remnants of the skirmish were several shreds of wicker and feathers... Stormwild herself lay off to the side, her legs tucked under her and her wings splayed, limp and lifeless, by her side. Her mane and tail were soaked through, a nasty, unsavory color like the ground. Her eyes were closed... but, ever so slightly, her torso rose and fell with shallow breath.


"Stormwild! Stormwild!" Balrog called, surprised to hear the frantic timbre of his voice as he prodded her gently with his nose.

The destruction in the clearing told a story that chilled him to the core. Why did she leave the herdgrounds without him? Who had done this? And what froze the very blood in his veins was the sign of wicker. She couldn't have been... could she...? But now... there was so much blood...

"Storm!" He cried, carefully picking up one of her wings to try to rouse her.



She stirred ever so slightly at his prodding, turning her head in an attempt to move the hair from covering her eyes. A tremble later and she had one of her front hooves moved out from under her, trying to gain footing. She didn't say anything, her eyes blinking slowly under a veil of hair plastered to her face by blood. As Balrog lifted one of her limp wings from the puddle of mud-soaked snow, a surprising sight revealed itself. Half-buried, completely concealed by her wing, a sing basket was wedged into the war-torn ground. It was relatively in tact, though frayed in several points, with wicker steams flayed in various directions and covered in splatters of blood.


She moved. Relief flooded over Balrog to see that she was indeed still alove, but for how long? How badly was she injured? "Storm.." He murmured more quietly. "What... who... how...?"
But as she lifted her wing the rest of the way, he spied the basket, and his breath caught in his throat. He swallowed, looking about. The blood on the snow had frozen, this could not have been that fresh. Pawprints and hoofprints scraped and scuffled the ground all over the clearing. A shudder traveled down his body as a memory he had tried for so long to suppress flitted through his mind of another scene that was all too familiar to this one.

But she was alive. There was still hope. He could mourn the loss of what must have been other baskets later.

He sniffed the air, and while the scent of blood was heavy in the clearing, it was old. He coudln't smell any predators.

"I need to get help." He rumbled. A shaman, one of the horned members of their herd, anyone.

"Don't leave," she managed to say weakly, managing to maneuver her other hoof from underneath the weight of her body. She rolled and tried to distribute her weight evenly so she could attempt to get up. Her voice and body were shaky, but she attempted to get onto all fours regardless. Her wings still hung limp by her sides, dragging in the mud and she slowly go to her feet, leaning hard against Balrog, her head hung low and seemed unable to look him in his eyes.

Balrog winced as she summoned the effort to get to her feet, trying to help support her as she shifted her weight. He could see bruising, bits of flesh and fur turn away where it looked like claws or teeth had raked her. A part of him felt that he should be angry with her - for leaving without telling him. Going out where it was dangerous alone and.... with foals...? Had ... she really been pregnant? Balrog couldn't believe that he hadn't have noticed. Had he really been that distracted? Or had this been another situation of Stormwild's charity? In the past, she had taken responsibility for stray baskets - even those of weaker races.

But, seeing her like this. The anger fizzled and died. In his youth, perhaps, it would have been able to break past that sensation of pity and worry. But now, Stormwild's heath was forefront in his mind.

He swallowed, feeling drawn. He was no healer. He was a warrior. But he couldn't leave her side - not when she asked him like that to stay.

So he did his best to lift or support as she got to her feet. "Do... you think you can walk?" He winced.
His eyes went to the basket. He wouldn't ignore the elephant in the room. "What... happened...?" He tried to meet her eyes.


"In a minute," she breathed out, trying to steady herself on her own four hooves... slowly trying to take her lean off of Balrog and stand steady on her own. It took her a while, but she finally managed to maintain her own weight, though her balance looked shaky. "They're all gone," she said with a heavy and remorseful voice, eyes looking out over the battleground that lay before her. A few feathers blew in the winter wind, dancing on the breeze before whisking away into the forest. Storm lowered her head even more in sorrow, tucking her wings to her side. She either didn't see the half-mud covered basket, or didn't seem to know it was there. She tried to make a few steps, and despite an obvious limp, seemed to be able to walk.. slowly.

She still didn't seem to watch to Balrog in the eyes, or elaborate more on the situation. It seemed obvious enough to her what had happened...or perhaps she was just too ashamed.


Balrog's face creased heavily in concern. "I didn't know you were..." he stopped himself. Maybe they hadn't been theirs. Maybe they were foundlings she fought to protect. An ear flicked back. If that was the case, she shouldn't have interjected herself. It was dangerous and not her responsibility... but it wouldn't have been out of character for Stormwild.

He watched her move forward like a foal trying to walk for the first time, her weight askew, and trying to favor more than one leg. He hated to interrupt her, to call her back, but....

"But what about that one...?" He gestured with a wing to the muddy basket.


Stormwild finally looked up at him through her straggly mane, a look of confusion crossing her face. "What?" She followed his gaze down to the basket and Stormwild looked as if she might collapse once again. "No... it couldn't be. They... they got them all..." She stumbled over to it, leaning down and taking hold of the top of the basket and gently pulled. The wicker receptacle made a slight sucking noise as it came free, dripping a red-colored liquid from it as Storm placed it delicately on the ground. "I swear..." she looked utterly confused, her disbelief obvious. "There were two of them... two hideous creatures... a walker..and..and.. something worse..."


Balrog swallowed as he listened. He glanced back to the basket, battered and dripping and winced. Even if it was still here and in tact... could it really still hold a living foal?

"Are you certain..?" He asked gently, knowing that she must have been through hell, and hesitant to pry further into the situation. "Maybe they missed it... in the mud...?"


"I don't... " she was stunned, trying to shake clear her muzzy head and remember the details. "I don't remember," she said, barely audible.

She nosed the basket, taking every inch of willpower not to lose her composure. She picked it back up, holding the sogging basket in her mouth and began slowly walking in the general direction of home.


Balrog swallowed and nodded. The most important thing right now would be to get Stormwild... and the basket... back to somewhere safe. It was a hard path up to the herdlands on the ground. Balrog had made sure of that when they had picked the location. But it was possible. It would probably take a few days with her injured like this. He ... hoped she could make it.

Balrog walked close by Stormwild, and went to make an effort to take the basket from the injured mare, but seeing the expression in her eyes, he drew back. He matched her pace, never taking her eyes from her, but trying to subtly offer her a shoulder here where a footstep faltered, or a guiding wing. He didn't know what else to say, so he walked in silence.

Stormwild eventually, every several days, began to speak in short bursts about the attack - there was a vicious pale skinwalker and a large, menacing beast she described as a horse-sized wolf with wings of terror and a thousand evil eyes. The attack was brutal and quick, and after a long fight she finally drew them off, but collapsed afterwards. She admitted that her memory was hazy, and that she was nearly certain all her baskets had been destroyed by the skinwalkers.

"Honestly," she had some at some point to her mate, "I was beginning to convince myself that I had no baskets at all... that I had imagined them." She looked so incredibly sad, but her voice and body grew stronger by the day. "I had even convinced myself that it was all a dream, until you found it."

She was referring of course to the damaged basket that nestled between them every night. Remarkably, once the mud, snow, and blood had dried and flaked off, the basket was looking better by the day. Perhaps a bit frayed, but it maintained its weight, it's warmth, and one could feel the dull, magical pulse of life from deep within. Though it took considerably longer than most baskets, the drab. dark grey basket began to slowly take on some of the colors of it's caretakers - and by the time they had reached the base of their mountain home, the orange and purple runes slowly began to glow, causing Stormwild to smile for the first time since Balrog had found her.




Balrog displayed an almost uncharacteristic amount of patience as he helped Stormwild back to the herdgrounds - the long way. There was only one ground path up to the alpine plains, and it was not easy to navigate, even by an uninjured soquili. But there was a reason they had a path like this. Like when his grandaughter had brought another injured stallion up to their herd to rest and repair his wings. Balrog never thought he would have to use the path himself, but he had made a point to learn it. And.. he was glad that he had been convinced out of destroying the path to ensure that only the winged could reach their hideaway. Instead, they had just disgused the path, ideally so only those that knew it could find it.

Balrog wasn't sure, when Stormwild finally did speak of the nightmare, that it would have been better or worse had she dreamed the baskets. He mourned their loss.... their children... but... one had miraculously survived... somehow? But it didn't seem to make sense how or why.

But when the familiar colored runes slowly came to life on the basket, a warmpth filled Balrog's heart. Maybe there was a reason the spirits had watched out for this little one.

Balrog stood at the edge of the bluff that overlooked the alpine valley that served as the common grounds of their herd. The foaling grounds, the wider stretch of land where the most succulent grasses grew. The place that his herd bedded down to rest at night, in clear view of a protector who watched over them.

This was his herd... his family.

This was the same place that Balrog had, many seasons ago, cried a challenge to the spirits to let him prove the mettle of his herd. And it seemed as if some malicious spirit might have heard his challenge. But instead of a test that might prove their mettle, it came in the form of dissent - Firestorm leaving the herd to be with a mare that Stormwild did not approve of. And it came in the form of vicious beasts that had attacked his mate when she was alone and vulnerable... with foals. It was these monsters that had wreaked havoc on his own progeny. Or perhaps it was his own arrogance. Thinking his herd immune from predators... But when he had let his guard down, once again... there was death.

Balrog caught sight of a figure heading towards the herdgrounds and took to wing to meet them. He had been on full alert since he and Stormwild had finally made it back home. He had barely slept, making sure that she was always in his sights. That the remaining basket was kept safe.

She was healing, thank the spirits, and the basket still seemed to miraculously hold life within. He would not let anyone take that from him.

The figure approaching was Cataclysm - who had also left the herd temporarily in a state of unrest. She never went far, or stayed gone for that matter, but she had been lonely and fussy and had taken to exploring beyond the herdlands for weeks at a time. She saw her father approaching and felt a twinge of apprehension and nervousness roll over in her stomach. She splayed her wings in the wind and swooped down to meet him, clearing her throat closing her eyes for a moment to compose herself.

"Father," she acknowledged with a smile.


Balrog sighed with relief as he saw the figure resolve into the familiar form of Cataclysm. She was back, and safe by the looks of it. He nodded a greeting to her and angled his flight downwards to the herdgrounds, down near where Stormwild rested.

"It is good to see you well, Daughter." he responded as he touched down.



"Very well," she said, tossing her braided mane back out of her face as she touched down next to Balrog. "So well, actually," she said in her usual haughty tone, "that you might be surprised." She gave a little snort. "I've been busy, as you may or may not have noticed, I've been out a lot recently. Since I've been abandoned by my sister, I wasn't content to just sit around and be ignored any longer."

She flicked her tail, watching him closely out of the corner of her eye, watching his expression. "I've been meeting new Soquili," she said, "All the wonders of the wind aren't isolated to our one herd."


Balrog's eyes narrowed skeptically. HE had heard similar from one of his offspring just recently. Firestorm and the demon-mare that hye had still yet to see with his own eyes.

"I have noticed, my daughter. And I am well aware that the lands and skies extend beyond our borders. But no land is finer than our home. Remember that this is your home, Cataclysm. And surely, you have not been abandoned by your herd. Maelstrom has merely found a find stallion to share her life with, and brought him into this herd." Balrog was not entirely oblivious of the dynamics of the members of the herd. He remembered how close that his daughters had been for most of their young life. But Maelstrom had been spending a majority of her time with her mate and her own daughters since their arrival. But still, such things did not mean that she no longer loved her sister.



Cata's expression seemed to darken with the mention of Mael and her perfect wonderful stallion. "I'm not leaving," she basically mumbled, snorted again, trying to gain the courage to say what she wanted to...what she needed to. "But I have too have found a stallion," she said with a resolute nod. "A stunning one," much more impressive than Wild Wind, she barely managed to hold back. "One like i've never seen, Father. He's like a ghost..." she swallowed, "Something greater than a mere mortal stallion."


Balrog tilted his head as he listened to Cataclysm, and heard the marvel in her voice. "A ghost, you say?" Had his daughter truly seen a phantasm. He had noted her jealousy. Was her story even real, or had she wished for a suitable mate so badly that she invented one?

"This stallion of yours, he did bear wings, did he not?" Balrog inquired almost predictably.


"Of course he did!" she almost snapped, looking offended. But the question was a fair one... it had, more than once, crossed her mind to bring home a grounded stallion just for the reaction - and therefore, attention - it would bring. "I'll do you two better, Father, he had four - ghostly, translucent, amazing wings, Father... he is terrifying and awe-inspiring at the same time. Trust me, you would like him."


Balrog uttered an undecipherable rumble as he listened to her tale. Four wings? It sounded like a fairy tale his mother had told him once. One that he had since passed off as just rumor.

But if this were the truth..? He let the concept roam about in his head.

"He does indeed sound legendary." Balrog conceded. "It is a pity that he did not come back with you..." He let that hang on the air for a moment, before toning down a bit. "But I shall be eager to see the results of this union." Which was the truth.



"Maybe you can meet him soon," she said, "But he's hard to pin down." She lifted her chin to look at him, still watching his expressions closely. "But you should not have to wait too long to see the results..." she trailed off for a second. "I've come home to prepare for foals."


"Oh really?" Balrog's voice was a mix of surprise and skepticism. Foals so quickly? Then again, Cataclysm had been spending a lot of time away from the herd. Who knew how long she and the mysterious stallion had been seeing each other.

He paused for a moment before tossing his head in a nod. "Then it sounds like my congratulations are due, Daughter. I shall eagerly await seeing your foals." Balrog did hope that they were as grand as she was claiming. He would be interested to see if there was evidence in these foals of the claimed grandeur of the father.



Cata lets out a breath of relief that she didn't even realize she was holding when her father seemed to approve. "You'll be proud of me," she said, almost a question more than a statement. She puffed out her chest and stepped a bit easier, looking around her herd lands and, for the first time in quite a while, was so very happy to be home.





Only days after Cataclysm's return to the herdlands, another figure could be seen in the sky, making its way towards the elusive meadows that the Thunderbird herd called their home.
This time, a fire-eyed alicorn stallion who came in for a heavy landing feet from Stormwild, kicking up no small amount of soil. Shaking himself, Firestorm regarded his stepmother without so much as a formal greeting or introduction, nodded his head with a toss. "I heard word that you had been hurt."


Storm was curled up on a warm patch of grass upon the mountain, her figure and wings hiding the one precious basket from any harm. She looked up with the land, snorting in irritance at the kicked up of dust flying in her direction. She narrowed her eyes at her son, “Yes, looking for you,” she snapped, but her expression softened and she sighed – while she had left looking for him she hadn’t been attacked until she had been grounded by her impending labor. “But I am on the mend, I am glad to see you are doing well.”


An ear pinned back at the accusational greeting, and he snorted, his expression darkening despite her retraction. Firestorm's temper had been prodded.

"Well I'm fine." He said with a defensive retort. "You needent worry about me and my 'demon-lover,'" He glared. "She hasn't eaten me yet." He tossed his head.



Stormwild gave a heavy sigh. "I'm not particularly worried about you," she said. "They are possessive - and if she has 'chosen' you she will not want to share you - even with your family."

She let a pause hang in the air for a moment.

"And they can snap....at any given moment."

Another pause.

"And I can't help but notice you're not in a rush to show her off."


Firestorm snorted derisively. "She can't tell me what to do." He tossed his mane for emphasis. "I'm with her because I WANT to be with her. And besides, you haven't exactly been all that welcoming. Why would I want to bring her here with all of this bile you've been spewing." He snorted.

"Just wait. Soon, soon we'll have foals of our own." He let that hang in the air with a daring smile. "And they will be STRONG!" Certainly, Shinoma was not actually with foal yet, but they were trying! ANd Firestorm had confidence.



Storm shook her head. "I think you know a part of you is ashamed." She frowned at the mention of foals. "Please be careful, Firestorm. You have a family here... don't bring foals into the world just out of spite. They will need a strong and loving herd to help raise them well."


Firestorm blatantly rolled his eyes at her accustaion. "Anything but. I came here beacuse I heard you had been hurt, but obviously you're not THAT hurt. And Shinoma and I are perfectly strong enough to raise foals! We don't NEED a bunch of lazy, weak old mares to watch over them."

He went to raise his wings when he noticed something tucked under her large wings. His brow furrowed. A basket?
A flash of... something... ran cold then hot in his chest. Had she and Balrog birthed more foals? THIS Firestorm had not heard.

His ears flattened. "You have baskets?" It almost came out as an accusation rather than a question. Were they trying to replace him? Despite having left the herd, in Firestorm's mind, it wouldn't be forever. He was the golden child - the son of Balrog, and Stormwild, even as he had retorted more than once - wasn't his real mother, she was more of his mother than his real dam was. ANd on top of that, since he had been trying, there was a basket, tucked casually under her wing, spiting him, almost as if it were calling him impotent.


"I think once you have foals of your own you'll be singing a different tune. I just hope your children don't ultimately have to suffer for your stubbornness."

At the mention of the basket Storm couldn't help but smile a bit. She lifted her wing to give a better view: the black and orange and purple glowing basket seemed to be almost lit up in the shadow of its mother's body. "Even more a reason we'd like to see you home and with your family," she said, "You're going to be a big brother soon."



Firestorm's face darkened. "We shall see, Stormwild. But if I got my stubbornness from any, it was Balrog." He flicked his tail. "I think I could be a better sire than he!"

Firestorm eyed the single basket nestled by her side. His confidence and irritation brimming, he made no effort to hold back his quip. "What? Just one?" He laughed outright. "Perhaps you and Balrog have grown impotent in your old age."


Stormwild couldn't deny that Firestorm was indeed his father's son. She simply shook her head.

But the comment about her one basket incensed a rage in her that the Elder had not felt in many years. She quickly got to her feet, stepping quickly away from the basket in fear that she might stomp on it her rage. "How dare you," she roared, flaring her wings up in a show of fierce dominance. "You nearly lost your Alpha and mother, and now you dare to insult the memory of deceased siblings." She tried to calm herself - there was no way he could have known. But regardless she felt as if, based on her impotency or her inability to protect them - he was blaming their deaths on her. "You spoiled, heartless, arrogant stallion, it;s about time you actually learned a lesson about that ungrateful tongue of yours." She continued to storm up to him, head high and threatening, quickly entering his personal space.



Firestorm felt as if the words evaporated from his mouth. For once, he was silent. Deceased siblings...? In his ire, Firestorm didn't even consider that possibility. Now, it seemed blatantly obvious. She had been injured...

He found himself backpedaling as Stormwild drew herself to her full height, wings spread and flapping for effect. Suddenly, she had all of the force of presence of the Alpha that she was.

"Storm... I... I didn't know.." He stumbled over the words.

Then, suddenly, a loud CRACK from behind Stormwild interrupted their conversation...


TO BE CONTINUED...

"You will call me mother you ungrateful wretch," she seethed, not slowing her approach. She was in his face, staring down at him with an intensity that was chilling and terrifying. "I may not have given birth to you but I have given you a life that you could never have had with your weak, skinny, excuse for a mare that did!"

It wasn't until the sound of the crack that Storm looked distracted at all. Her ear swiveled back and as soon as she could determine the sound was coming from the basket, she whipped around, kicking dust in Firestorm's face as she landed and hovered over her treasure.

"Get your Father, now," she demanded to her step son.


Firestorm was backpedaling, fear and anger both building within him. She was a terrifying sight in her anger, and yet, the words she said... Even if he hadn't known his dam, by insulting her she was indirectly insulting him.

Thoughts were racing - scenarios, responses, but there wasn't much controlling those. The urge to run, but his ego wouldn't let him. The urge to fight, but fear battling that. Just as he was about to rear and make a challengeing whinny, there was the crack of the basket.

Firestorm likely didn't know how lucky he was to be interrupted.

He felt disjointed. What was happening? It seemed like thoughts were taking a long time to penetrate his head. The basket... HIs father... Balrog... he just stood there in confusion as anger and fear was fighting to keep the instructions from penetrating before, finally, it sunk in, and Firestorm, wordlessly but with ears pinned back, took to wing to go find Balrog.

The basket quivered and shook. Already, a large section of the basket weave had been torn, and something inside fought for life and freedom. Here, a glimpse of a tiny pale hoof. There, a flutter of feathers.

All of Strormwild's rage had melted away in a single instant. She hovered over the basket, shading it between her legs. She put her head down and nosed it gently, letting the scent of the new foal underneath fill her nostrils and her heart with joy. It took every ounce of her willpower not to rip the basket off in a matter of seconds; though the baby inside was struggling so knew it was important for the foal to make it out of its confines on its own strength, unless in the most dire of circumstances. She shifted her weight from hoof to hoof, her heart fluttering in joy and anxiety. What would come out? What if it looked nothing like her or Balrog and she - in some kind of delirious state - had stolen someone else's basket to cope with the loss of her own? What if, during the struggle, the basket had been damaged and knocked around the baby was horribly disfigured?

She gave a nervous whinny, looking up to the sky for her mate.


It was an agonizing five minutes as Stormwild stood over the wriggling basket, snaps of wicker and groans as the basket as a whole was strained before a large dark shape appeared in the sky, trailed by the smaller, thinner form of Firestorm.

Balrog flew quickly to his mate's side. He had been patrolling the herdgrounds, but the moment that Firestorm had breathed the word "basket", he had needed no further explanation before rushing back to where Storm had been 'nesting'.

He first greeted Storm with a nuzzle, before his eyes and attention were drawn to the basket. His chest filled with pride... and anxiety. Similiar thoughts had plagued the stallion - what if it wasn't his? What if it were... damaged... The circumstances around the basket were odd as it were. But all he could do was wait and watch with baited breath.


The basket strained, both ends seeming pressed from the inside by tiny hooves before, finally, with a loud POP, the basket ripped apart, sending a small foal spilling outwards.

His fur was dark, magenta eyes blinked up at the circle of adults surrounding him. Runic patterns graced his ankles and neck. And on his back, four wings folded, fluttering occasionally in newfound freedom.


Stormwild froze.

She was seeing things... certainly...

The new baby was looking at her, wanting some kind of confirmation that she was his mommy. She should have been nuzzling it, licking it, comforting it..

...but all she could do was stare.

The implications of this...

She finally moved her head...just enough to look at her mate, seeing if he was seeing the same thing she was.



All Balrog could do for a moment was stare. What did this mean? Was it his? The coloration... certainly resembled both him and his mate... And she had to have been pregnant before she left searching for Firestorm. There could not have been another father. and yet... Balrog could not deny the ... amazing feature. The double set of wings... like the stories... like Cataclysm's claim.

The fact the basket had survived an improbably attack... maybe... the spirits had looked down on them. Maybe they had blessed their child - saved it or... changed it... or... something.

He tore his eyes away from the colt, staring up at them to meet Stormwild's eyes.

"Thank the spirits.... Our... son...?" He did not mean for it to come out so much like a question, but he earnestly sought to hear Stormwild's guess.


She found it hard to find her voice. "This is impossible," she finally whispered. She took a hesitant step towards the baby, leaning her head down and nuzzling the small, beautiful wings. A sort of peace fell over her, the panic and uncertainly she had felt just moments ago seemed to be ebbing away as she took in the scent and feel of her new child. She knew in her heart that this child was hers - if not by blood by Divine doctrine. The spirits had sent this child to her - and whether it was born through the labor or her loins, or blessed upon her by a sympathetic spirit to help her mourn the loss of her children - starting from that moment Storm didn't know or care. She had adoptive 'children' before - and while she loved them as she would her own children, there was always this understanding that they were not hers in the same manner that her blood children were. But she felt that her soul was intertwined with this one.

She looked and watched Balrog's expression carefully. "I think the spirits have chosen us."


The foal, exhausted from the effort of tearing his way into this new world, nuzzled against the big, warm, nice-smelling mare, his heart filling with the simple love of a foal for his mother.

Balrog felt his apprehensions and skepticism melt. It did not matter to him either. A similar conclusion entered his mind as Storm spoke. He felt... Right. More right than he could remember. Here, with his mate, in their herd, among their family. Here he was, blessed with this vindication personified - the spirits had chosen THEM. Their family, their herd. This tiny foal cast in his and Storm's image, bearing the legendary double wings of the heavens. The spirits had heard them.

"Thunderbird be praised." Balrog spoke reverently. Their herd totem - the great spirit of flight, strength, and change.

Meanwhile, forgotten, Firestorm took a step backwards, his face darkening with a jealous hatred at seeing the arrival of this "brother."

His ears plastered backwards. HE was the heir to this herd. HE was the son Balrog was proud of - his wings, and the horn of a unicorn. His strength. As much as Firestorm resented his father and how he had fallen into complacency, he secretly treasured how similiar they were - down to their stubbornness. He knew Balrog saw that - he KNEW that they would miss him when he was gone - come begging, crawling back to him to return and prove his strength. He could prove how strong he was being alone. Stormwild's scathing opinion of his mate only further stoked the fire of his ego - if he could be the mate of a Kalona... well... surely that was just another mark of his strength.

But now.... Now with... THAT. It probably wasn't even their foal. But look at them, crooning over the little mutant. How could it even fly right with so many wings.

But Firestorm KNEW. He knew the pride in his parents. He could all but SEE the little foal worming its way into HIS rightful place in this herd.

He stole one last seething look at Stormwild. She probably would soon dismiss him all together - he wasn't her son... and she would claim that this was hers - hers and Balrog's....

Firestorm continued to back up, his dark thoughts rolling through his head as he spread his wings and took to the skies, flying furiously back towards Shinoma.

He noted, with a mixture of distaste and petulance, that the skies were growing dark as thunderheads began to roll in, the first roll of thunder echoing across the mountains.

Ethan had wandered a ways from the forest to try to clear his head, dizzyingly full of information and indecisions. Everything he had been living for up to this moment had been so clear before. Certainly, his path had not been without hardship, but no adventure was. He had traveled for so long - with his purpose always laid out before him, keeping him going. He had never stopped to question his motivation. And with Cricket by his side, what would have been a lonely journey was instead a grand adventure.

But meeting Diogenes, no, his brother had shaken the resolution from Ethan. WHY was he looking for his sire? What did he expect to learn?

No, Ethan knew exactly what he was hoping to find - a purpose, an explanation for what he was supposed to do with his life, and who he was. Even before he knew there was something wrong with him, he knew he didn't just want to live in a secluded meadow with his mother. And so the answer had seemed natural - to find his sire. See the sort of life he had lived, and see what this mysterious figure had contributed to who he was.

And after hearing the stories, and seeing the fear in the eyes of others when they saw his long horns or twisted leg, he sought to find that his father was not as bad as the stories. To validate and redeem himself by finding his father. Proving them wrong. That he wasn't some demon, but more... well, like him.

Diogenes had ruined that illusion. He had treaded upon it and done far more damage to this ideal in Ethan's head than he had done to Ethan's body with the blows of his hooves. And he had proven even beyond the dark stallion's own presence and embrace of his demonic side that that same demonic blood ran through Ethan's veins when he saw the destruction he could wreak when he fought back against him.

So... what now? Ethan felt lost. He knew, he knew as surely as he knew the sky was blue that his father was every bit the evil Kalona that everyone talked about. Redemption did not lay in finding this mysterious figure. And that epiphany shattered Ethan's world.

What then, what was he supposed to do? What was his purpose here? If his purpose wasn't to uncover his past...


A tan and green figure swam through the skies with all of the enthusiasm that had once resided in the slender stallion below. Her flight was more of a dance with the wind than the banal travel that the birds called flight.

She was close - she could taste it. She had heard that these lands were homes to all manner of strange soquili - ones with horns like she had described. One even seemed to recall a horned, tan stallion that had passed this way not too long ago. She was alive with expectation.


Not far behind her, another figure flew, struggling to match the pace of the adept windrider.
But Dae'Ruil did not complain. To him, it was worth the fire in his lungs and the burn in his muscles as he raced to keep up with a soquili that seemed like she was born to the air. She was filled with so much life that even being around her gave him a greater appreciation of the world around him. Her happiness and devil-may-care attitude was infectious.

Even though this was her quest, he was satisfied living vicariously through her. She breathed a life into him that he had longed to taste living in pampered neglegance back home.


Fianna nearly fell from the skies as she spotted down below a solitary shape - a soquili with natural coloration, laying near a wide lake. She wheeled around, trying to get a closer look. When her sharp eyes caught the curve of horns over his back, her breath caught in her chest. Did she dare to hope? She dove for the earth with a practiced control, slowing her fall at the last minute to land adeptly on the green field.

At first, Ethan thought he was dreaming. The daring plummet and dainty landing of the mare before him reminded him so much of one night early into his journey that he thought he might have fallen asleep and gone back to that night. But no, the sun was still high in the skies, and everything seemed much too real to be a dream.

His brows furrowed, and he found his footing, tial lashing behind him nervously as he approached the slender mare. "Hunter..." He began to ask incredulously. Had she followed him here?

But then, the vision resolved itself.

This was not Hunter, despite how much it looked like her. Her fur was lighter, and peppered with subtle ticking. And behind her, a thin tail lashed...

Ethan felt his throat tie itself in a knot.


At first, all Fianna could do was stare at the stallion before her. He was almost just like her mother had described, and yet, not at all what she had expected. In her mind, Ethan was a dashing, suave, behorned stallion, powerful and confident. A lothario, perhaps, or touched with an element of danger.

But while the wide-eyed young stallion before her, he possessed the backward-curving horns like her sisters, her own long, furless tail, and ticked coat looked small and scared. Surely... this couldn't be her father...? But inside, Fianna knew it was.

And when he called her by her mother's name, there was no denying it.

She shook her head, lips pressed tightly together. "No. My name is not Hunter. My name is Fianna." She held the next words for a few moments, not sure if she wanted to utter them. "My mother's name is Hunter."


Dae'Ruil had spotted Fianna make a too-quick turnabout and head for the ground. He was nowhere near as maneuverable in the air, and he made a gradual arc in the skies. By the time he had flown around, he saw her down below, speaking with another soquili.

Dae'Ruil did a double-take. He had heard her go on in their travels about what her mother had told her about her father - the soquili she was searching to find. A soquili that seemed to meet the description of the one below them.

He knew a private moment when he saw it, and began a slow descent a distance from the pair, silently wishing her the best.


It took a few moments for Ethan's mind to process what she was telling him. Hunter was her mother... her features were hauntingly familiar... That moonlit night and a moment of passion.

Ethan's eyes widened more and he shook his head.

But it wasn't possible. He hadn't meant to... It had just been one encounter... but no. The evidence stood before him on four dainty hooves.

"Your mother..." He echoed mechanically.

"That makes you.... you..."


"Your daughter." Fianna finished for him, more resolutely than she felt.
She felt irritation begin to boil within her. "You didn't know?!" She pressed.


"Know?" Ethan asked incredulously, taking a few tentative steps towards her. "No... I never thought..."

He stopped, starting again. "Fianna?" He weighed the words in his mouth, eyes softening as strange, conflicting feelings welled up inside. "You... you've been lookin' for me?" The irony suddenly hit him with all of the weight of a fallen tree.
He had a daughter he had left alone to grow up sireless. He didn't even know she existed. And here she was, looking for HIM. Her absent father. Probably looking for an explanation... a reason... that he couldn't give her.

It was just a night. An amazing night, but the thought had never even OCCURRED to him that new life might spring from it.


Fianna shook her head, the irritation not lessening with his flabbergasted reaction.

"Yes. Yes, father. I have been." She drew a tremulous breath, looking him over, searing the image into her mind. This was what she had been looking for for so long. Since she had the strength and confidence to leave her home behind.

"Why..." she stopped, shook her head again. He didn't know? He didn't know? How could he not know? She was just... some accident?

"I THOUGHT you could tell me why. Tell me who you were, who I am because of it. Why you left mother... Why you weren't there for me and my sisters..."



"Sisters?" Ethan repeated, a few octavies higher.

"I... I.." He closed the distance between them. "Fianna... wow.. I... I'm sorry. I know... I know how you feel.." His ears drooped, his face scrunching into a wince.


"Know how I feel?!" Now Fianna's voice rose, but in anger. "How can you begin to know what I feel?! Deirdre was right! You abandoned us! It's WORSE than not caring - you didn't even KNOW! How... how.... STUPID!"


"I know because the same thing happened to me!" Ethan countered in protest. "I... I've been looking... for my own sire." She was right. He felt stupid. It sounded stupid. He had done the exact same thing that had been done to him - completing some sad chain of events.


Fianna's eyes narrowed as she shook her head again. "YOU? You grew up a b*****d? You made ME when you were looking for your own sire? You never stopped to think that you might be doing the same bloody thing?" She wouldn't cry... she wouldn't cry. Not in front of him.

It was ridiculous. It was meaningless.

And the fact that the soquili she thought would have answers was just looking for answers himself. She snorted, ears pinning back as she scuffed the ground with a hoof.


"'m sorry.." Ethan began weakly.

He swallowed, trying to think of something, anything he could tell her. "I... I haven't found him yet. You've done me one better already in that." He said with a wince. "But I can tell you that I think I've found that I don't want to. He's... not a good stallion... you grandsire..."


"Wonderful." Fianna spat. "Neither are you." She countered venomously.


And her words hit home. Even if they were not what she meant, she brought to his mind his all-too-recent encounter. He swallowed the poison down. He deserved that.

"But your granddam.." He began again, with an honest smile. "She's a wonderful mare. Kind-hearted. Brave. Smart. And with amazin' stories.." Ethan remembered Rosemary. It had been so long since he had seen her. She was a wonderful mother. And something that he realized, he had taken for granted on this trip.


Fianna didn't say anything. The scowl stayed on her face, but she glanced back at him, listening.


"Rosemary came from across the ocean... an she had a lot she could teach." He paused, looking at her again. She reminded him of her. The spirit... The flecked fur on a mare... "I bet she would have loved to meet you."


"mm." Fianna responded impassionately. This wasn't what she wanted to hear right now. She was upset. This wasn't how this scene had played out in her mind a thousand times over.

Her father wasn't too busy with some important quest to have stayed home. He wasn't some great, amazing stallion. He was just like her. Lost.


"Fianna.." Ethan tried to smile. This was his daughter... his family! "Let me make this up to you. Let's get to know each other..."

He breathed, drawing back that confidence. "'M sorry I wasn't there... but I'm here now..."


"You tell that to my mother... and to my sisters!" She spat. She wasn't ready for this - not now. She had to get out of here. She had to clear her head, to not think, and just fly.

She spread her wings, and kicked off of the ground with the force of all of her anger, flapping angrilly into the expanse of sky above her.


Dae'Ruil watched in surprise as Fianna took off like a soquili that had been stung by a bee. Where was she going? she looked upset! What about him?

He swallowed, taking to wing to fly after her, but unlike their travels together, Dae'Ruil realized suddenly that she was not holding back her speed this time. She was already almost out of sight by the time Dae'Ruil reached the proper elevation, and her retreating figure was growing smaller by the second.

He began after her, but knew that at this rate... he wasn't going to catch up.


Ethan watched dumbfounded as she flew off in a tantrum. Just like that, she was gone. And yet, in the brief encounter, she had managed to shake up Ethan's world.

He had sired foals. And they were grown. He had missed all of that - just like his own sire.

And more likely than not, he realized with a finality, his father knew and cared just as little about him as he did about them. He would find no real answers in that part of his past. The digging into that side of him had only shown him the darkness in his bloodline and within himself. But that wasn't the only side to him. His mother had raised him, and his mother was good. And without knowing anything of his father, Ethan had been a gentle stallion. His life... was what he made of it. And his lineage was just that - a past that gave him a start in life. But beyond that... he had to define it. Not his father.

He couldn't offer any epiphany to Fianna... just as the elusive Dyson Graves was unlikely to tell him anything about himself that he didn't know and also wanted to be. If he followed that path, he was following further into darkness. And that's not the soquili he wanted to be.

He whet his lips, thinking about her parting words. They had been intended to be words of wounding... but she was absolutely right.

Ethan flicked his tail resolutely. He would make his own path towards the rest of his life. And the first step of that was to right his own wrongs. He owed Hunter an apology, and to meet his ... daughters.

Ethan laughed to himself. Fianna had come to him looking for answers to her life. But instead, she had answered his.