Temperantia had been drifting. Ever since their...experience with the Creator, Orion was the last place they wanted to be. The knowledge that the tunnel where the Creator resided was just a walk away. Always in the back of their mind. Always there. They could never put it out of their mind. The whispers that plagued their every waking moment made sure. The fact they had to return to stabilize at at them. Temperantia rested against an shelf of rock that jutted from Polaris' wall. A windhopper colony grazed below. Unaware that Temperantia was a threat. Temperantia watched them nibble on grass. Stable. Symmetrical.

Temperantia summoned magicka. Began to draw from the windhopper. But it felt it. The twinge of pain, or the sudden tiredness, it didn't matter. What mattered was Temperantia wasn't fast enough to finish it off. The windhopper bolted. The rest of the colony following within moments. The denial of a morsel of stability had it seething. It drifted to the ground. Quiet, but angry. No outlet. Their wings flapped harshly once. The only external sign of turmoil. Temperantia was frail, without any magic to destroy. Yet it wanted to. Their frailty was in conflict with their need to dismantle order and stability.

"When I speak."

When I think.