Disclaimer: I own the characters and the plot. That's it.

:colons: are Mindspeech, [brackets] are Alettea's thoughts.

Muse responsible: Chaesa

And this is a couple years later, so Alettea is about 9 or so. (Which, for a Companion, is almost fully-grown)

Still revamping!

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I nibbled at a tuft of grass. Nine years had passed, nine years since my wings had appeared.

As usual, I was pondering my wings, my mind traveling down that much- traversed thread of thought. [So, my wings are made of white fire. Uh, how did that last bit of the prophecy go again? "And then in Valdemar's greatest pain, the Wings of White Fire shall rise again!"]

I tore up another mouthful of grass and chewed, thinking. [I guess that Valdemar's "greatest pain" will arise in my lifetime, and I have to stop it. Oh, lucky me. And I'm repeating myself...something new, something new.] Chewing the grass meditatively-[Gross! I hate beetles! Blech.]

I spat out the grass and tried to think of a new topic. [Perhaps I should concentrate on WHAT this "greatest pain" is. Knowing Bards, they just reworked that till it rhymed...mm. Perhaps...Karse? That makes sense...I mean, according to the thing, Karse killed me last time around. I wish these past-life memories weren't so hazy...it'd help me a lot.]

I looked around. No one was in sight.

So I reared, mirroring the Windrider, and the fiery wings sprouted from my shoulders.

I dropped down. [I wonder-can I fly?]

I knew that I couldn't reveal my wings, at least right now, because Taver had made me swear when I was but a day old never to show anyone but my mother, him, or Mother's Chosen.

Mother and Jerele, however, were on circuit. Jerele was a wonderful person.

Jerele had been on the streets since five, and had been captured and taken north when he was 11.

His Gift of Fetching had come violently awake, and his captors, frightened, had beaten him nearly to death, until Mother came and Chose him.

Now Jerele was a great Field-Herald, with a sense of justice and a knack for sorting out problems.

I spread my wings and looked at them for a long moment, then, ever- conscious that someone might be watching me, reared and made them vanish.

[I can't wait till I get my Call. Life here is sooo boring.]

I began wandering over to the tack shed, following-something. I wasn't quite sure what.

And the Death Bell tolled. Even though I hadn't Chosen, I could feel the missing gap, the pain-and I realized it was Taver and the Monarch's Own who had gone, and how.

I tried to remember-oh yes. The Monarch's Own, and therefore Taver, had been on a secret errand for the Queen-I seemed to remember that it involved some...delicate...information, which needed a skilled diplomat. Since Heiler, the Monarch's Own, apparently was the only one who actually knew where he was supposed to go, he had gone himself.

And they had fallen off the backwoods cliff-trail they had taken, resulting in a broken neck for Taver and a snapped spine for his Chosen.

:Oh, Taver, Taver, why?: I wailed to anyone who might be listening.

Taver had been like a father to me, guiding me through my confusion, teaching me all he knew about the legendary Winged Companion, whose name had been lost long ago.

And now the Winged One was me...not the Windrider, not even remotely related, other than we both had wings-simply the Winged One. [Damn all these titles, anyway...]

The Death Bell tolled again. I wheeled and galloped towards the Grove-as one of the quickest Companions, I was one of the first there.

Other Companions arrived, staring up at the bell, tolling, tolling-

And a white shape, a white glowing something, began to swirl in the midst of the Grove.

We stared.

The swirl took on the form of a fiery white horse, filling me with an incredible urge to match it with my wings-but I resisted.

The fires vanished.

The new Grove-Born looked out at us. :I am Rolan.:

I had a dim "remembry," as I had called them as a foal, of something before my rebirth-something about Rolan.

But I couldn't remember it too well.

I was filled with the urge to wander over to the tack shed again.

I wondered why. Why the tack shed?

I didn't realize I had said this to one of my friends, Zephyr, (who had already Chosen) until she replied :It's your Call, Alettea. You need to go get tacked up.:

I blinked, then realized what she had said. Silly me. :Whee!: I cried, automatically beginning to rear-

But I realized what would happen and deliberately tripped, rolling in the grass instead, the euphoria that I was finally going to Choose muting the pain of Taver's death.

:Go!: said Zephyr.

I whirled and galloped from the Grove. I so wanted to rear, to dance, to run!

Rearing was ruled out, due to my promise to Taver, and since white horselike beings can't really dance and shouldn't try, that left running.

So I ran.

I presented myself at the tack shed, waiting not-so-patiently to be tacked up.

I could sort of see an image of my Chosen-to-be on the insides of my eyelids-fiery red hair, flashing green eyes, a fighter's body.

I was tacked up at last-and none too soon! I was going on Search!

The bells chimed as my Call lead me north and east of Haven.

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There we go! You likey? You no likey?

Who gets cookies today?

Etcetera-cat: Not really, but I guess it could be...thank you!

Kyalia: ooh! Thank you!

Emerald Flame: Ooh! One of the best? Thanks! And I'm assuming Companion foals can move around and stuff-I mean, what if Alettea's mother had dropped on Search? Then Alettea would've had to be able to follow her around...

Cerulean Sky: Here's more!

Thankees!

~Fireblade and muses