The forest breathed around Aurora, slow and steady, as though it were a living thing and she merely another creature passing through its ribs. Pine needles softened her steps, damp earth cool beneath her small hooves. She had learned long ago how to move without disturbing much - how to let the land keep its silence.
Despite her stature, she was not fragile. The wind braided itself through her mane as it always did, tugging gently at the rainbow feathers that curved from her shoulders and traced her wings. Against her near-black coat, their colors caught the daylight where it filtered through the canopy, muted but unmistakable. The same was true of her horn and scales - bright, many-hued things that marked her as different, even here, even now. She did not try to hide them. There was no point. The wilderness sees all things eventually.
She paused beside a shallow stream, lowering her head to drink. Her reflection wavered in the moving water: small, dark, eyes shimmering faintly with color not borrowed from the sky or leaves. A soft glow clung to her, subtle as heat rising from stone after sunset. She had been born with it. It was not magic - just her, as natural as the way some birds gleam or certain stones catch the light.
This stretch of forest belonged to no single creature. Other Soquili passed through here - some solitary like Aurora, others in pairs or herds - and the Kawani people knew these woods far better than she ever would. Their paths were faint but present if one knew how to look: a bent branch here, a worn patch of moss there. Aurora respected those signs. The land had caretakers already.
Traveling alone had become her preference over the years. There was peace in it, a rhythm she could keep without explanation or compromise. Still, solitude did not mean emptiness. Her thoughts often wandered to her children - Moonsong with her quiet watchfulness, Eclipse with her shadowed intensity. They were grown now, walking their own paths. Sometimes they found her. Sometimes they did not. Aurora had learned to be content either way.
A breeze slipped through the trees, carrying the scent of distant rain and something else - movement, perhaps. Another presence. Aurora lifted her head, ears tilting forward, posture relaxed but attentive. This forest was shared, after all, and crossings were inevitable.
She did not flee. She did not call out.
Aurora simply stood there, small and dark amid the towering trunks, feathers stirring softly, waiting to see who - or what - the land would bring into her path next.
