I told you once I took wing I wouldn't be back...

For a least a week, the eastern seaboard had held her more or less captive. Though the rain had eased considerably, surprisingly, in recent days, the Rift had most ungraciously installed an ache behind Zahra’s pale gaze which was only exacerbated by any sort of exception. So it was because of this—flight was not as straightforward as flap wings and sail—that she lingered on in the desert-like areas between Havylen and the Flats. There was fine company to be found with the banded inhabitants of the old, broken-down city. It’s ivory spires stood like towering beacons against the dismal blanket of Drench’s usual deep, pregnant grey behind; a glimmer of hope amongst the abundant grievances of this world, suggesting that civilisation could actually thrive. Of course, the ruins set beneath quickly deflated that expectation—it would take a good deal of time to restore the city to any form of previous glory… Regardless, Zahra understood that the herd of Havylen’s hospitality was not available for abuse. When the weather broke and rain at last eased, the maturing painted pegasus found herself venturing once more between the vast span of glistening, glassy pools before the writhing black ocean at the end of the continent. Today they shone blue, trimmed with pallid ribbons, exactly like the heavens overhead. She enjoyed the stiff brackish wind which seemed constantly to blow through, unhindered, and the abundant space which felt—to her—similar to the endlessness of the sky. It was pleasant respite while she stood tethered so unfortunately to the earth. The stranger in the distance grew the nearer she journeyed, eventually taking the form of an equine not like herself. He was quite occupied, standing to bear the full harry of the wind, extending one wing and then the other with it; perhaps entirely oblivious to the fact that another was nearing. Zahra hardly wished to present him any danger and might have sung forth to rally his notice, but even as her lips angled to better project the sound of her voice, the sound of his own sailed forward; bolstered by the strength of the oncoming wind. How in hell am I supposed to get in the air?! The stallion’s frustrating was evident—surprising given his size (more so of his wings)—though the watching mare could not help but smile softly. She remembered her own distress, the sheer botheration of trying to coordinate limbs mind and courage, and the countless times she’d failed. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. Quietly she sauntered forward, and when she felt she was near enough to be heard, the note of unmistakable encouragement rang out. “It takes time to learn the art of flight…” As he flapped wildly against the wind, light laughter bubbled from her core.

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@Kyros