Time is the Best Medicine... Right?

NOITCERRU It was dry. Not for long, Noitcerru knew; one false step and, like a booby trap, once again showers would rain down almost as if they would never stop. But for now? A moment of reprieve, and one that the stallion welcomed. The feathers that covered his hairless body dried more easily up here, under constant barrage of the winds, and he could enjoy the feeling of being free from water. The birdman circled overhead with steady beats, one eye always on the horizon.   The horizon was what had been bothering him, in some corner of his soul. Some part of him wondered why he was here at all. This side of the Rift was more restrictive than the rest, what with the sea and the closed spaces of the forests, the jungles. Others could see safety there, a refuge; all he saw was the potential to catch a wing, to snag a hoof, to have to do battle with branches and boughs - or, out at sea, to get caught under the waves. Drench with its disorientating storms was the worst time of the year for him, and there were other parts to this land that were more hospitable to him and his needs. Wide open spaces, for one, with strong prevailing winds. Deserts. Expanses. Just the thought of those places was like an itch running down Noitcerru's feathered spine, a crack of the whip to move on and see better things from even dizzier heights. The instinct to simply abandon this place and its disturbances, to move into better territory and seek out other adventures elsewhere, was hard to stifle. But stifle it he would. The portal, the plaincoats...they were like the spider at the middle of the web, bouncing all the threads in turn. This was where the Rift was changing, metamorphosing, and where the rest would follow in those first hoofprints...if all went to plan. The dimension was dying; whether this was the final series of death throes, or an resurrection, Noitcerru didn't know. But there was one thing he did know: he could not indulge his instinct to fly away and seek better pastures when he would satisfy the mistress of curiosity instead. There was much to see in the land changing just beneath his hooves. And perhaps that scared him a little. Death of the Rift had once been certain. Now? Now it was all to play for. And what he saw as fear he also saw as an invitation.   If he was staying, this was to be his base. Not a home, for the pegasus did not know the meaning of the word. But if 'home' really was a place, it was where Noitcerru could easily feel the wind under his wings. Sirens aside he returned time and time again, and why wouldn't he? The mountain was every pegasus's dream. Cliffs and crags and mountain peaks...and disturbances down below. The best kind. The birdman stopped, pausing in his circling to stare. There was a speck of something moving amongst the pines. The birdman swooped down, following the speck's trail. Well well well....a foreigner. He lowered a little, carefully positioning himself at the widest points between the pines - never quite going down as low as ideal. Horse or not, predator or prey, Noitcerru would not go close enough to be touched. His legs swung uselessly, his wings treading the air. He eyed the unicorn curiously, hearing his words. But he was alone, clearly. "Does the Helovian talk to himself?" His voice carried the distance between them, thick and textured with an accent. Or accents, mixed together in a cocktail of countries and places and lands, impossible to place - almost musical, as if corresponding to a beat only he could hear. The pegasus bobbed his head like an bird, each movement quick and sudden. He could see now; his keen eyes picked out a small head rising from the satchel the stallion was carrying. His ears pricked in recognition, his head turning to one side. "The Helovian has a little friend." __________________________________________________________ "Talk" OOC: @Apollo - Hi there, nice to meet you :] run boy run this world is not made for you

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