Edrahil had yet to venture outside of Silva’s borders and he was sure to be disappointed whenever he did. He loves the rich warm colours of his home of perpetual autumn. Not those average, ordinary lands choking with green and little else.

Not that he knows what autumn, or really green, is yet but he does know that his home is the best because this is where his family is.

His wings are still fluffy with down when he goes on his first completely solo adventure. Totally alone. Definitely not just a few trees away from his parents on a sunny afternoon where his purple coat easily stands out from the autumn foliage.

Totally. Alone.

Although Edrahil doesn’t have any real desire to run around like a madman in play, he has a bit of an imagination. He slips off into a world where he is king and all his pesky older siblings have to listen to him for a change. He fancies the idea of flying over all the world, breathing fire and shattering things wherever he pleased.

He was going to have to learn how to fly first. And fire breathe. And shatter (tragically, not something he was destined for).

Too impatient to wait for when his “feathers grow in” for a “proper lesson”, Edrahil explores Silva in search of a rock or perhaps a stump or fallen log. He finds a few and expertly navigates over them with a brilliant flap of his wings.

(He steps over the very low lying obstacles… but he does flap his wings. So it counts.)