Atlantis seasons were taking some getting used to, and Faolain suspected it may take her at least one cycle to learn how they all worked. She had never before stayed in one place long enough to experience all of a land’s seasons. Just another first added to her nearly overwhelming list, she thought, as a humid summer breeze blew through her mane. She was standing at the edge of the lake, front hooves submerged, staring at the reflection of clouds in the gently rippling water. It was likely going to storm, again.

At least she was growing accustomed to most aspects of her new life. She was growing to truly love the Ridge, despite the often bipolar weather that swept through its dense jungle. Most of the stress of her looming responsibilities had faded and she was learning to take things one day at a time for now. Luckily, it had been quiet; she had heard nothing from Rougaru or Xiomara, leaving her to think about how she wanted to approach them when she made that decision. It seemed likely that she would not hear from either of them until she reached out first, which was fine by the dark mare. She felt better equipped to properly engineer the correct first impressions that way, something that was apparently critical as a leader. Hopefully she would never have the level of attention (or infamy) that would warrant constant, careful crafting of appearances, but if such circumstances ever arose Faolain doubted she would care. She doubted it would happen at all.

It didn’t help to dwell on it, however. With a heavy sigh, Faolain looked up from the lake and into the clouds themselves. She was resigned to weather the storm, metaphorically and literally; it would not last forever, and she would learn how to cope when it got nasty. Besides, she liked a bit of rain, metaphorically and literally. Life would be boring without challenges, and nothing grew in sunshine alone.