After a few breaths, we are airborne. Dried dark red leaves and swaying purple grass mark our ascendance.

I continue to wave and gaze toward my home for a few more moments and then the city spills around us. We are soaring higher, immediately picking up speed. Soon after taking the skies the true chill of autumn is revealed and I'm grateful for my cozy, double-layered, woolen cloak. It is a large thick blanket folded into a cloak. I wrap it around me.

The air tickles my face as we slowly rise. My grip on the horn instinctively tightens.

The full view of Lodestar plasters my eyes as it nests in the middle of a massive canyon. The city's outline is heavily elongated from north to south.

The canyon floor is wide. It would take an adult from the first morning light until about midday to walk the Valley from side to side at a leisurely pace.

In the very center of Lodestar, there is a colossal colorful pillar. Even from this distance, it is easy to spot. I've only seen it up close once a few years back but the memory is still clear. Its entire surface is carved with a painted frieze that spirals around it, showing the Goddess and her daughters. Goddess herself appears dozens of times in the form of a regal and serious woman's face. Interestingly, I remember those large faces well because they are left unpainted. I think some strange symbols are around them. Theia, the First Daughter, is easily recognizable by holding a spear and a sword, while her divine sister Acrona has the slightly different battle gear of rich fields, strangely painted green, with joyful children and familiars scattered near her.

The pillar marks the largest public space in the whole city: Senate Plaza. There are scores of worshipers around its base which slowly fade from view as we fly southeast.

Far above the peak of the giant pillar, an indomitable red orb of light blissfully gives out its shine. During the day Sol's impact is underwhelming but at night it can even hurt the eyes to look upon directly as it blankets the city with its red hue. Our clergy preaches that it is a tiny piece of Allmother's divine body put there to bless and protect the canyon until the end of time. I prefer to think Sol is the hazy sun's offspring.

Anyway; even though our beautiful small sun is so high above the city, some grandmaster at the Academy calculated, to the slight displeasure of the clergy, that it still only shines at the height that is about the middle of the general depth of the canyon.

During the day the air above the city is always swished and swooshed with winged familiars carrying, hauling, transporting, relocating, delivering, or simply revolving around Sol in long curves and ellipses. They are harmless, docile beasts of mane, feather, horn, scale—just like our current companion—and I don't know what else. There are consistently at least a few, and sometimes a throng of Winged circling Sol. Winged familiars, like their ground brethren, are drawn to the light of Sol, and even at night, there are always dozens of them flying around the small sun. At this distance, they remind me of tiny flies around a small clump of real fruit on my kitchen table.