There just wasn't a world less stranger than the valley that lay out below the cliffs. For someone as well traveled, it was a forest. It smelled like green grassy pines, tree pollen, animals. Really: nature in general. In comparison to many other forests, the sense of the timberland below was not particularly threatening. Nor alien. It did not smell of the wild danger, the arbitrary sense of reality that was the Everfree; it was green, but not a rotten green.

Every stand of tree from where she sat was tall, and strong, and proud. They stretched for miles, meeting and rising up the valley's edge on the far side, the details of the foliage bluring out to a solid green that in turn met with the silver-blue haze of well traveled distance. It was a sizable fortress, no doubt with a mystery of its own. But frankly, she was not here for that. She was here to get out, as she was there to get in. Whatever happened between then and now was of no coincidence. She wasn't about to be wrapped up in any sense of moral relativity. She was her own. She was Dawn. And she was her own independent satyr, her mother damn it!

Sighing, she leaned back, her legs rubbing against the sun-warmed granite of the high cliffs. She must have been a quarter mile, or half a mile higher than the tree tops below. Alongside Dawn ran a small fountain of a water fall splashing down from the glacier peaks above. The water tasted sweat and pure, like true mountain water. And it had washed away the dust of travel from her travels. From her hair, off her skin, and from the fur of her legs. Bundled around her her strawberry-pink tail lay drying in rags, used and reused again for this purpose.

Her soft tan skin shone naked and clean in the afternoon sun, the last drips of her bath drying off from her shoulders. So to was her strawberry head of hair. Cut short it was beginning to lift back up off her cheeks and brow as the water dried out, lightening the color. It had been a dark crimson wet, according to the metal of her bevor, which she had finished polishing with a fistful of reeds scavenged from whatever world she had stepped out of and into here; coupled over with a treatment of water from the stream and ash from her last night's camp fire behind the rocks behind her.

It had taken hours, but she had cleaned and buffed the metal she wore since Canterlot. It would have been worth the effort if she had to make herself presentable for any reason, of which there was none. But to friend or foe there was a value in having pride in your appearance. And this was a new world to present yourself to.

Scratching her chin she looked down with an absent expression to the new world beyond. The faint purple expression in her eyes indifferently searching the trees. Earlier she thought she had seen things moved. But she wasn't sure now. Had whatever she imagined moved deeper down the valley, or was it simply a trick of the mind? Some desire for adventure. Another beast whose head to claim.

Still, nothing yet moved so she reached aside. Grabbing a half-eaten apple. It had a off-red appearance, almost purple. It was gnarled and knotted and otherwise unappetizing by temperance. But despite the outside, it had a sweet juicy finish inside. The sort that crunched and filled the mouth with all sorts of good feelings as she chewed.

Taking a large juicy bite from the apple she cleaned off the rest of the succulent white meat from the fruit. She pulled herself up from off the cliff face, throwing aside the apple as she boosted her weight up on her white horse legs, her tail falling out of her lap and unwrapping from the drying rags. 

With a groan of relief she stretched out her shoulders as she pulled herself out straight. Stretching herself up onto the tips of her hooves as she stretched. She craned out her back, holding up her arms and stretching her breasts – the size of ripe apples – to the warm afternoon breeze. She pulled back her arms, feeling the relieved cracking up and down her back as he spine feel back to place. She sighed in relief and she relaxed, dusting the dirt and dust from the fur of her ass. Genetics had the fortitude to bless her with her mother's bottom, if without a related cutie mark. Never the less, she doubted there was so much a crime against nature could give her.

Feeling ready she turned to the armor and clothes she had let dry in the sun behind her. The shine of the sun was bright off the metal of her armor. Once heavier it had been stripped of many pieces to simply make it quicker to put on, and easier to move. It was much easier to roll under a dragon's swinging tail when you had full joint mobility than not, and the armor had already been awkwardly crafted in the first place: more fitting to a pure-bred than not.

A white cotton-spun tunic and padded doublet lay nearby on a large boulder, all cleaned along with the rest of the strangely sewn garments.

All that was needed now was to simply get dressed.