Time is but a construct of hours and months that pass by in a collection of years. Enough of which that she has lost count of them. She is grown, for all that that matters - slight and small, besides the horns atop her head that look dangerous and impressive. Dandelion puffballs decorate her mane and tail, trailing seeds that have managed to come loose like wishes from shut lips and locked hearts.
She barely remembers here. Has tried to forget because her failures have amounted to much more than her successes. So she did as her moniker suggested - she wandered, high and low, and so very, very far away. But something made her come back; something always makes them come back. Like a beacon in the bloodline that shines as bright as the sunrise here, and so, the pale apricot mare answered it.
Of course the snow melt preceded her, so that she is ushered forth on paths of slush and mud. It adds to the road-dust matting her pale apricot fur and dulls the tangles of her dark hair. Wander doesn’t care, she has never bothered much with how she looks and presents herself. In that regard, she takes after her father more than her father and she presumed the lovers are lost in each other’s gazes and a forest or field somewhere.
Funny, she hasn’t thought of them much until crossing that threshold that declares here as home. It seemed all of Beqanna could be home to her and not just the Pampas she grew up in. Wander frowns, it is mildly becoming on her grownup face, because she has not spared this place a single thought during her wandering. Why now, upon her return, does she think so much of it?
Her stride shortens, slows, and finally stops altogether. It hits her in that moment - home, yes but something else too. Something that she has not acknowledged in so long - him, and his name flies into her brain on swift wings and refuses to depart. Wander is caught off guard by her reaction, near visceral like a punch to the gut. Timid, something that she has never been before, her mouth parts and the tiniest softest murmur falls out, “Pteron?”
One might think she’d summon family to her side first. Not her. She calls for her oldest and dearest and only friend (and childhood crush). The pale apricot mare did not look too closely at why she said his name and not anyone else’s. She didn’t want to examine herself that closely. Instead, she fidgeted and tries to graze but the grass disinterested her and so, she settled her gaze on the horizon as if expecting to hear the call of some other adventure in case he didn’t show.
@[Pteron] ❤️