The night she was born was a storm of ice and snow flying through a sky of obsidian. The wind wailed across the tops of evergreens and cold seemed like it would never end. It sounded as demons howled in the shadows, riding on the backs of predators that smelled the afterbirth and thought there would be an easy meal. A pale worm like body covered in crimson and the cheesy paste all newborn humans have when they gasp their first attempt at breating, lungs inflating until they can exhale out a cry. Weir’s mother reached for her child, hoping that there would be a bulge between those chubby pink and slimy legs but the look on her face was a complex mix of anguish and joy. The storm rolled on and lasted for many more days before Weir could be presented to her father, the king. He took one look at the albino spawn in his mistress’s arms and immediately condemned both to never return. Walking back into the woods, her mother carried the ice storm bastard.

Storms in spring are not unheard of but they are not typical. The colors behind the dark clouds reflected across curved orbs as she stared at the storm in the distance. In the light of the lightning flashes, she appeared like a scarred ghost with massive skeletal horns. The necklace of six red weirwood leaves preserved in amber on the back tip of her caribou horn clinked in rhythm with the gusts of wind. Long straight silver tendrils of mane and tail whipped furiously in the gusts that tried to knock her off balance. She weaves her way towards the cliffs of the terminus sea that overlooked the churning abyss that separated the dusk and night courts.

Storms are in the very fibers of Weirs soul for she came into this world in a storm, she will probably be leaving this world in a storm so she shows no fear. She is comforted by the cyclones of air and the streaks of light that cracked and boomed behind the watercolors in the sky. The buzz of the electrical clouds passed in waves, dying down and then picking up. Eventually her rosy hooves passed over one last hill that led to a ledge that overlooked the waves below. In all the chaos there stood a Pegasus. Weir knew the storm would silence her approach. She surveyed this winged, silver-haired mare from a distance and noticed there is a calm to her and she lacked any tension in the whipping winds. How unusual.

Finding solace in a stranger who is as comfortable as she in this storm, she approached on the side of this stranger and walked up to the cliff edge. She looked out at the dark, white-capped waves for a short time before looking over at the stranger and getting a better look of her in the flashes of light that broke the blanket of watercolor. Hello stranger. It’s a beautiful evening wouldn’t you agree? She half smiled warmth that cut the biting cold of the rain before looking back out over the sea.

There is magic in this land, a vibration that thrums across the land and whispers in the leaves. The essence of it can be tasted in the water and seeps into the skin in the sun. In this rain that falls patters onto their backs like fingers drumming away to the melody of the storm. The water cascading down their skin over hair, skin, and ribs until it dripped from the soft underbellies of these new-found friends. Their connection is one that does not need to be verbalized, each can see what is happening.

First to greet them is a familiar face with his little trinkets chiming and his long curled locks wrapping around his body like a feather boa. He is far too pretty to be a stallion but Weir doubts he gets any complaints. A nod acknowledges is response with a smile that is wild like the eye of the storm but also as comforting as the first ray of light to warm you after the skies begin to clear. She makes note that she will need to speak more with him some other time, he is sovereign of the night court, and though Weir holds not position of power will not stop her of being of use to her sovereign.

Next to arrive is light of skin like she is but he shimmers in the light like gold and silver. There are scales on his shoulders, along his throat, face, and other places of his body. He looked like he came from some other dimension of period. He has wings that lack feathers and they have a sheen to them, unlike anything weir has ever seen before. They were much less enticing to touch than feathers with their soft streamline tips. Weir, in her typical curious ways, wanted to touch them if even for a moment. Almost losing herself in examining him she forgets to introduce herself or ask his name. She noted in her mind that this is another she will need to chat privately with, even if just to touch those wings.

She doesn’t even notice she is smiling at him with thoughts wings bouncing around the neural paths of her mind when yet another arrives and catches her attention. The sheer group that has grown form one single chance encounter is thrilling. Weir nods in acknowledgment to the final members response before speaking for the group. Everyone is welcome to enjoy the storm with us. Weir grins ear to ear and thinks of how she recognizes half of these horses but not the other half and how it doesn’t matter what court you are from, what your life was like before Novus, where you are on your journey now, Novus is home now and it is growing. It is something special, really special.

Laughing lightly weir can’t help herself in her lighthearted nature that she looks to the lightening, the thunder, the wailing and calls out loud and proud into the flashing churning darkness. She didn’t fear her actions, as if her calling into the heart of the storm was like she was challenging a monster or the gods. She didn’t care in this moment, she is alive in this moment calling to the sky. Her voice does not last long before drifting back into silence. The convex halves of her rose eyes staring out over the sea. If she had wings she would fly in this moment, she would. She wished she could spread wings wide and drift over the waters and touch the whitecaps but alas, she cannot. She is a creature of the land, snow, and storms and we are citizens of Novus. It is our turn now, our time to rule this land. She speaks to no one in particular and in no particular direction but her eyes remain forward.