He wakes to a fractured darkness. It is deep and total, except for where it is not-- for, if he tilts his understanding this way or that, he can occasionally catch a pinprick of color or light. A glint of something in the otherwise all-consuming nothing. How strange.

He moves. He writhes and kicks, thoroughly discomforted by the amount of absence. He longs for his dreams, which had been both resplendent and simple, a pleasant menagerie of muzzy pastels. But he cannot rest — for the blackness had become claustrophobic, robbing him of his breath — and so he moves instead, rolling, bucking, doing what he must to escape this choking void.

Something connects. It is a solid contact; it yields sound-- a melodic crack! that cleaves his prison wide enough to allow for escape.

It is hardly an elegant affair. He tumbles like a fool, rather than emerging gracefully. His sides heave with panic and exhaustion, and a litany of unhappy squeals tear from his throat. It is too much change, perhaps, in too short a time-- no more! no more! cries his heart, and he stays laying on his side, hooves pawing the ground in agitation.

Yet he calms. It could be eternities or mere seconds-- but his body stills, ultimately unharmed. He breathes deep, and is surprised by the refreshing nature of it. The ground is cool and pleasant, soothing his newborn flesh. Fractals wink invitingly beneath his eyelids. It is as though this place, which had only been experienced through maddening fissures, is saying hello, hello, it is nice to meet you at last!

The curtains part. The foal's eyes blink open; his vision blurry, distorted, but oh-- what a spectacle! He stumbles to his feet, straining under inexperienced legs, yet snorting softly at every little wonder. Each discovery only kindles more awareness, until, at last, he can appreciate every shade and hue, every jagged, crystalline slope, every tuneful white noise heard. The world sighs, as though pleased by his attention; and then everything click, shifts into place, and he reels, utterly enchanted.

He cranes his neck, flicks his ears, flares his nostrils. His cropped, stubby tail whisks. Each movements nearly sends him careening, tumbling into the floor, yet the urge to move is seizing him yet again. He wants to explore; he wants to behold every marvel this waking place offers him.

Nickering, curious, he makes his first attempt at walking; and trips, far more than he treads, but he is utterly ecstatic all the same. The sensation of motion, deliberate, under his own power distracts him, somewhat-- he trots, circles, stumbles, falls, over and over and still over again, neighing in delight at each success and every single failure. How delightful!

^{FOR THOSE WHO HAVE NEVER SEEN A BABY HORSE TRY TO STAND, I BLESS YOU WITH THIS}

He found himself growing more and more restless by the cycle. The necklace he'd been granted- the one that now hung around his neck- provided only mild solace. The skies he soared through in his dreams only aggravated the desire for freedom when he was awake. The compounding feeling of claustrophobia and helplessness was growing unbearable, and he often found himself staring at the ceiling and wondering how strong that stone truly was.

What mattered more was how strong HE was, though, and right now the answer was... not very. He could do little more but make pretty music. He knew he had the POTENTIAL, for more. He could feel it- the earth-shattering magic that thrummed quietly through his gemstone. He needed to hone it, somehow...

A shattering followed by unearthly squealing tears him from his thoughts, and the first thought that flits through his head is danger, so of course he finds himself going TOWARDS the horrible noises, even after they fall silent. And what he finds is.. a rather comical sight, once he gets over his initial concern. What he first thinks is a potentially injured is, he realized, a kid. A BRAND NEW kid, too, judging by the shards of gemstone scattered around and the newness in which the foal regards every single thing they see.

"Oh wow! You're like a kid. Like a REAL little kid. Huh." He'd kick at one of the obsidian shards with a foot. "Uh... Welcome? To living, I mean." He had no idea how to deal with said kid. Especially one so much bigger than himself. Music? Did kids like music? He'd attempt to conjure a little crystalline tune. Sure enough, a nice little tune fills the air, bouncing off the surrounding crystals and reverberating through the whole area. He'd harmonize with the melody- a light, twittering hum that rose just above the crystalline notes.

@Sylas

He hears far before he sees, for, in looking so close at everything, he has a rather difficult time searching for something. Yet the sound alone is curious enough; it orders itself, unlike the quiet murmuring of the world. Nickering, the foal attempts to turn and locate the origin of the odd noise-- and, quite promptly, tumbles head over hoof.

Sylas shakes himself; blinking; more surprised than actually hurt. His vision reorients itself before sharpening-- fixated, now, on the source that had eluded him, as his fall had brought him nearer to it. How serendipitous!

His ears wiggle slightly, and he bends down his head to sniff at-- the thing? No, not as such. It is clear the noisemaker is different than anything else he has seen thus far. It moves and creates with great purpose, although it is tiny. Not unlike his first, wobbling steps. More practiced, perhaps, but deliberate all the same.

The colt whinnies what might be a greeting of his own, which, though lacking in structure, is not void of exuberance. The strange syllables the creature utters mean nothing to Sylas — no, no, not yet — but he is happy to see them, and hopes the sentiment is returned. "Uu... wel," he attempts, as though to make it all clear.

Oh-- and then there comes the humming. Sylas stares in amazement, first at the crystalline melody, and then at the creature's twittering harmony. A strange and utterly wonderful urge to move sings through his veins; and he obliges, finding it easier, easier to roll and stand upon his hooves. Easier enough to skip in place with a feeble little trot, which is far preferable than remaining unappreciatively still on the floor.

Yet still. It does not seem like enough.

Energized by this insatiable desire to do more, Sylas begins to step. One. Two. Three, four. Repeating, repeating, until, ah, at last! At last! He is stable enough to walk in circles around his newfound friend, kicking his hooves ever slightly higher.

Ecstatic at his progress, he neighs loud (look at me, look at me!) and then-- wonder of wonders, begins to faintly glow, causing the cavern around them to gently sparkle and shine!

@Ariah

He tries to keep a small bit of distance between himself and the foal- not out of aversion, but because he isn’t entirely sure the newbie wouldn’t accidentally stomp him. He does allow himself to be sniffed at, because that seems to be as good of a greeting as any. ”You don’t know any words yet, do ya?” He realizes- it did take himself a little while to learn to talk, but he didn’t entirely remember HOW he finally learned. Maybe it’d just happen? Yeah. Hopefully. He smiles at Sylas’s attempted speech ”Yep! Yeah! That’s almost words!”

He'd focused on several things at once- maintaining the spell, harmonizing to the magic melody, and watching over the baby. So he didn’t quite realize what Sylas was doing until one of his little laps had completed. At that point the humming dies off, with the crystalline melody threatening to peter off as well. “Oh wow! you’re zooming!” Sylas wasn’t really moving all that fast, but it seemed like good encouragement. “Be careful! And uh, don’t squish me?” He’d slowly turn in place to follow Sylas’s happy little loops around, finding the foals enthusiasm and joy quite contagious.

And then the horse.. started to glow? That seems like a magic thing, like his little song. Maybe THIS magic had the potential to be great too. Blinding light, like that ball in the sky. A brilliant, brilliant thing. “Oh hey! That’s magic! Nice job buddy.” He’d smile faintly- both out of genuine fondness and the inkling of an idea prickling the back of his head. ”Maybe one day you’ll be able to do more than some light. And I’ll do more than some dumb song.” At the last statement the general awkward friendliness that had been present this entire time faltered just a bit to reveal something duller and deeper. A pit covered in a woven carpet of leaves.

@Sylas