The spring wind whispers secrets,
Among the rays, a fledgling’s birth.
His eyes—as fragile as dawn’s first light,
Hold starlight’s gleam, and shadows of sorrow.

A downy bundle, still softly weak,
Feathers pale like the maiden snow.
Pearl-tipped horns, twin tears unshed,
A collar spun from silken threads.

He steps timidly, hoof on earth,
Breathes kaelum—life into the sand.
The wind’s keen sigh trails in his wake,
A chord born from the first notes’ wake.

His guardian, hushed as breaking dawn,
Guides through mysteries where answers fade.
“Fear not, small one—the world is vast,
Yet you’re the spark to kindle flame.”

The colt grows, hues deepening,
A canvas weaving fate’s own thread.
His fan-like tail whispers tales untold,
His mane—echoes of losses old.

He seeks not conquest, rage, nor throne,
His purpose: heal, protect, bestow.
Where starry paths dim, frail, and fray,
His melody shall resurrect hope’s day.

Winter fades; his splendor blooms,
Each whisper blends both joy and rue.
Ethalis—soul reborn in sigh,
To lift the world from ash to sky.