Willoughby has never been somewhere so big.

The plains ripple out around him, a sea of golden grasses rolling away to the horizon, as far as he can see. Clouds float like puffs of cotton in the distance; a dim gray shape swims against the pale blue of the sky, and it takes the young pegasus some time, walking toward it, to realize that this is the far-off ghost of a mountain.

The Roost had been large, of course, in its way, with its steep cliffs and long, narrow valley, and Willoughby had gazed out often enough from its ramparts. Every pegasus knows what it is to look down from a height—to see the world unfolding below him, vast and wild and promising as the wind under his wings. But Willoughby has lived his life above, beneath, between things. He has never before stood in a place so… open.

It makes him feel small, wading through the tall yellow grass, his wings held loosely at his sides. And he is glad, in that moment, to feel small—to feel his sense of wonder welling up and spilling over, to stare around him and see nothing but possibility.

It is one thing to glimpse the world from far away; it is another thing entirely to find yourself lost in the middle of it.

And so he walks, whistling quietly to himself, his thoughts a dreamy flurry. He does not know where he is; he is not even sure, anymore, how long he has been traveling. For a heartbeat he feels a pang as he thinks of the Roost, of his family, of the flock he’s left behind—

—but the Roost is no place for him, not anymore. And here the sun is shining brightly, warming his back, setting the grays and browns and golds of his wings to glowing.

There’s a rustling up ahead, and Willoughby cocks his pale face to the side, his ears pricking forward. “Hello?” Perhaps he should feel wary, but he is too eager, too swept up by adventure, to bother with caution. Excitement tugs him into a trot, and he nearly prances the last few steps as the stranger emerges from the long grass. “I’m Willoughby! Is this your home?”

Flora had heard word that there was a particularly attractive purple flower out within the grasses of Eluetheria Plain. So she had flown over, all the way across the other side of Novus and nearly as far as she could roam from her home in Terrastella. It turned out that searching for a flower on a grassy plain was akin to searching for a needle in a haystack. Yet Florentine was determined and even as the sun was beginning to fall from the sky, she kept looking in earnest.
 
So great was her concentration, that it came as quite a surprise when she heard a voice chirp a rather enthusiastic introduction. Her head popped up, coming nearly face-to-face with the approaching pegasus. “Oh!” The flower girl exclaimed, her neck arching and flowers stirring. “You need to make your approach a little louder before announcing your presence, I might have walked into you and that would not have been good for either of us!” Flora’s look is a little flummoxed as she peers as the feathery, bird-like boy. He was looked like an owl, so maybe creeping came with the territory; they were silently sneaky, after all...
 
Sweeping her eyes over the plain and its long, swaying grasses, Florentine’s nose crinkles. “No, I don’t live here. I live all the way over there.“ A wing points past bird boy to where a distant woodland meets rough, mountainous terrain. “My home lies past those trees and mountains. It’s rather beautiful but a lot less exposed than this and I am quite partial to a bit of sunshine. It’s good for a tan.”
 
Flora drinks in this boy with his avian feathers and golden coat, “You remind me of a friend I had… We never got to name him, so he was just Egg. I found him as he hatched. He was just like you, a bird and a horse. Did you hatch too Willoughby?” She leans in closer, her trademark move, with purple eyes glittering, “I think it’s a good thing that you already have a name, or else if you left it to me and my friends, you may never get one.”
 
She smiles sweetly, obliviously and peers past Willoughby to the grasses. “Where do you live? I am Florentine, by the way. Do you have any friends Willoughby? I have a few, I can introduce you to them, you know, just to get you started. You don’t want to end up lonely somewhere like this, I can imagine that would be very sad…”
 
The flower girl’s eyes hone in on the brilliant blue flower standing proud at her companion’s hooves. “Oh! The flower I was looking for! Well done!” Flora’s head drops, leaning in to sniff the flower swaying gently between Willoughby’s knees.
 
“It smells very pretty,” the girl’s head lifts and she offers him a wry grin, “You shall have to be my good luck charm. I am going to call you Bee because you found the flower like a bumblebee would. I did consider Willy, but that just sounds rude and my father taught me not to be vulgar, however well meaning I am be trying to be.” Her smile turns sly, Gabriel could lecture his daughter as much as he wanted, but she was now officially an adult and far, far from home. What he won’t know won’t kill him.
 
“Shall we explore this place together, Bee?”

@Willoughby

this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart