The wind blew in from the east into the small green grove. The golden rays of Cesletia's sun would soon follow the winds over the horizon. The wind continued at a gentle constant across the lightly wooded grove. The birds began to sing as the first golden beams of dawn pierced the far eastern horizon. Escutcheon awoke in an instant, wishing that he could bid his dreams to stay for a while longer. They never lasted, there was no point in crying over it.
Besides he had wasted all of his tears a while ago. They had done him nothing but given him a sore throat. It was still sore now that he thought about it. He reached out with his magic. The ground glowed with his golden aura, as the drops of dew formed a small ball of water in front of him. He quickly gulped it down. He was still thirsty but after a few weeks of never having enough water to quench his thirst, he was beginning to get used to it. Using his magic he quickly got his bed rolled back up, and tied back to his saddle bag. Which was already fastening itself on him. Heaving a heavy sigh he started heading west.
He wasn't even sure if west was the direction that he needed to go. He didn't know where he was, or how to get to where he was going, but going somewhere was better than just sitting around and waiting to die. Besides there was always hope that just over the next hill or threw the next wooded grove he'd be back home. It never was, but it gave him a reason to keep moving, at least.
He headed on through the woods, telling himself that on the other side of the trees would be ponies looking for him. That mother and father were just around the bend, with a dozen royal guards. He hoped, prayed that this time he would be right.