Morning arrived with a glorious blaze of light that shone off the smooth, rocky face of the mountain, lighting up the scant fear trees here and there and painting the slate ground beneath her feet a warm orange hue. She had awoken early, to feel the pre-dawn chill and feel the dew drops that settled on the sparse grass sliding past her legs as she walked. Morning seemed to be her favourite part of the day, and those that knew her well (it seemed there were none here that knew her so well as to call her a friend yet) would find her wandering, precariously perched at the edge of a vast cliff, looking down over the whole of the sleeping island.

By the time she had found her usual spot that hung over the valley so many feet below, the sky had begun to lighten from pitch black to a soft, purple-orange colour, promising a handsome sunrise that would be worth watching, and she had a front row seat. Somewhere, down below though, there were strangers washing up on the shore, finding themselves separating at the foot of the great mountain- one young soul staring up at the stony mammoth's impressive size.

Blinking and breathing softly, Irvosat watched happily as the sun began to peek out from behind some other distant mountains, rising up over their peaks and shining warmth down on her face. While the autumn morning was still chilled and cool, the warmth was enough to inspire her to move. Her pale legs quickly warmed with the movement, and soon she was descenting from the precarious cliff-side slope onto more solid ground, where the women of the peak often gathered. Here there was food and water (run-off from some age old glaciers that still clung desperately to the side of the mountain, dripping into rivers that became their main water source) and plenty of shelter.

Somewhere in the prickly trees the other horses gathered, leaving a small, golden filly standing out on her own, her little face peering into the trees as if trying to spot a familiar face. Irvosat assumed the girl had lost her mother in the crowd that had begun to grow in the peak, and approached the girl, stooping her head and moving slowly. Ears forwards and nostrils flaring, trying to place the scent of her mother that still clung about her skin, the painted mare greets the girl in turn. “Hello, little one.”