04-08-2015, 11:54 AM
Pevensie returns. She is no longer a woman, but a mare once more. In the same breath the makes the transformation, but feels nothing, acknowledges nothing. It all seems just as it should do, the magic of the gods perhaps? Well, her lungs feel longer, but apart from that...
Once again she is in the throne-room of the green-god. This jade fingers twist within their grasp and ostrich feather. A symbol, often chosen to represent the goddess Ma'at, signifying truth and order. It was also a representation of the hall in which she stood, where the dead had their souls weighed out and judged. It made her think, that last part in particular. For the first time, she really let the settings about her sink in, let her gaze wander from the god before her eyes. It was certainly the first time she had entered this room, yet she could not say it would be her last. With an immortal soul, would she ever die? Could one cheat death forever?
Orsis offers her advice, chastises her kindness. That makes her smile. Without kindness, what would separate them from the Valley? There is a reason that despite her discomfort in heat and loathing of sand, she had chosen to endure this life in the Deserts' rather than abandon it and move to a more suitable environment. When he offers her the feather, it lifts her heart, confirms her beliefs. She has lead a good life thus far- her heart is lighter than the feather.
Then, she is gone. The throne-room has disappeared, along with the jade-god. No longer is she surrounded by darkness. She blinks thrice, disorientated by the sudden contrast.
When her bearings return about her, she realises she is in a familiar place. She is in the garden from where the quest began. Glancing about her, she can only see three other figures. She waits, but the god before her speaks first. Degradation must not be coming. She is crestfallen, her lower lip trembles. Part of her knew, from the start, she had forced him into this. He wanted no part of it, doubtlessly he did not share her desire for eternal life. It was her who wanted it all, not him. Her own selfishness that fed this hurt, this stabbing in her heart. She fears her knees will buckle, the fist around her lungs will squeeze tighter until she has no air left. Everything is pain.
In fact, she scarcely notices when Cammie nudges her. She blinks, not recognising the grey foal she first adopted. Who is this mare nudging her? Frankly, can she bring herself to care?
The buckskin allows her lip to tremble, but that is all. She steels herself. She is ice. She is stone. She is rock. Pevensie knows she must be strong now, that she has endured greater hurts before. The little pony-mare did not enter this all for her father, she owes it to her adopted home to finish what she started. A deep breath later and she has straightened up, begins to pay full attention to the man in front of her. He looks scholarly, certainly he is less ornate than the other two before him. However, that makes him no less important, no less powerful. It is a fool who casts judgement without knowing, and an idiot who would underestimate a god.
He shows them the three boxes. She already knows which she would pick, for it is all she has ever asked of life, but first he would have them unpick a riddle. She flicks her ears back and forth, disgruntled by the riddle. What is the meaning of it? What does he want from it? The meaning of life, the universe and everything? Forty-two? Or would he rather have the scientific answer? She sighs, lost and trying to push away the throbbing pain from the forefront of her mind to concentrate.
The mare that nudged her goes first. Pevensie watches her without question, listens quietly. She then glances round to the third mare, who thus-far is unmoved, and volunteers herself next.
“The question of the chicken and the egg... I don't know what you want from me, so I will give you two answers. The first answers the question most directly: in terms of evolution, the egg came first. There were animals laying eggs far before birds. Simply find a lizards nest amongst the Desert sands, or a snake for example. I suppose these animals, in some grand way I have no possible scheme for understanding, could have altered an egg to birth the chicken. Thus, life expanded and developed right?”
She pauses for a moment, a soft frown furrowing her gentle features. That is the logical answer, but perhaps he would rather see into her soul.
“If we expand the question to it's theoretical meaning, I'm sorry but I must disappoint you. I know not if the gods created the universe. If they did, was it an accident? Was it planned? You will know better than I... clearly there are gods, so I cannot doubt your existence, but I must then ask... why do you allow suffering of the innocent? Why do some who have done bad deeds and enjoyed them get away without punishment? I cannot fathom it all. My wish is that we live in a fairer world, where those who work hard and do no wrong are rewarded and those who break the rules are punished according to their crime.”
“I am only a simple mare. However, if I were made ruler, that is all I would do. I'm sure you already know which box I will choose,” she says with a subtle grin. She fears death, yes, but her heart is numbed by the loss of her father from the quest. It is comforted by the thought of one last visit to the jaded-god in his throne room, by the feather in her hair against which her soul might be weighed. Mostly though, it is comforted by the thought of all the familiar faces waiting for her on arrival. As she walks to the box, she even manages a care-free smile. If it is her time to go, then let it be.
As her muzzle bumps the box 'choose me and get what you deserve', she closes her eyes and awaits her fate. Will it be painful?
Once again she is in the throne-room of the green-god. This jade fingers twist within their grasp and ostrich feather. A symbol, often chosen to represent the goddess Ma'at, signifying truth and order. It was also a representation of the hall in which she stood, where the dead had their souls weighed out and judged. It made her think, that last part in particular. For the first time, she really let the settings about her sink in, let her gaze wander from the god before her eyes. It was certainly the first time she had entered this room, yet she could not say it would be her last. With an immortal soul, would she ever die? Could one cheat death forever?
Orsis offers her advice, chastises her kindness. That makes her smile. Without kindness, what would separate them from the Valley? There is a reason that despite her discomfort in heat and loathing of sand, she had chosen to endure this life in the Deserts' rather than abandon it and move to a more suitable environment. When he offers her the feather, it lifts her heart, confirms her beliefs. She has lead a good life thus far- her heart is lighter than the feather.
Then, she is gone. The throne-room has disappeared, along with the jade-god. No longer is she surrounded by darkness. She blinks thrice, disorientated by the sudden contrast.
When her bearings return about her, she realises she is in a familiar place. She is in the garden from where the quest began. Glancing about her, she can only see three other figures. She waits, but the god before her speaks first. Degradation must not be coming. She is crestfallen, her lower lip trembles. Part of her knew, from the start, she had forced him into this. He wanted no part of it, doubtlessly he did not share her desire for eternal life. It was her who wanted it all, not him. Her own selfishness that fed this hurt, this stabbing in her heart. She fears her knees will buckle, the fist around her lungs will squeeze tighter until she has no air left. Everything is pain.
In fact, she scarcely notices when Cammie nudges her. She blinks, not recognising the grey foal she first adopted. Who is this mare nudging her? Frankly, can she bring herself to care?
The buckskin allows her lip to tremble, but that is all. She steels herself. She is ice. She is stone. She is rock. Pevensie knows she must be strong now, that she has endured greater hurts before. The little pony-mare did not enter this all for her father, she owes it to her adopted home to finish what she started. A deep breath later and she has straightened up, begins to pay full attention to the man in front of her. He looks scholarly, certainly he is less ornate than the other two before him. However, that makes him no less important, no less powerful. It is a fool who casts judgement without knowing, and an idiot who would underestimate a god.
He shows them the three boxes. She already knows which she would pick, for it is all she has ever asked of life, but first he would have them unpick a riddle. She flicks her ears back and forth, disgruntled by the riddle. What is the meaning of it? What does he want from it? The meaning of life, the universe and everything? Forty-two? Or would he rather have the scientific answer? She sighs, lost and trying to push away the throbbing pain from the forefront of her mind to concentrate.
The mare that nudged her goes first. Pevensie watches her without question, listens quietly. She then glances round to the third mare, who thus-far is unmoved, and volunteers herself next.
“The question of the chicken and the egg... I don't know what you want from me, so I will give you two answers. The first answers the question most directly: in terms of evolution, the egg came first. There were animals laying eggs far before birds. Simply find a lizards nest amongst the Desert sands, or a snake for example. I suppose these animals, in some grand way I have no possible scheme for understanding, could have altered an egg to birth the chicken. Thus, life expanded and developed right?”
She pauses for a moment, a soft frown furrowing her gentle features. That is the logical answer, but perhaps he would rather see into her soul.
“If we expand the question to it's theoretical meaning, I'm sorry but I must disappoint you. I know not if the gods created the universe. If they did, was it an accident? Was it planned? You will know better than I... clearly there are gods, so I cannot doubt your existence, but I must then ask... why do you allow suffering of the innocent? Why do some who have done bad deeds and enjoyed them get away without punishment? I cannot fathom it all. My wish is that we live in a fairer world, where those who work hard and do no wrong are rewarded and those who break the rules are punished according to their crime.”
“I am only a simple mare. However, if I were made ruler, that is all I would do. I'm sure you already know which box I will choose,” she says with a subtle grin. She fears death, yes, but her heart is numbed by the loss of her father from the quest. It is comforted by the thought of one last visit to the jaded-god in his throne room, by the feather in her hair against which her soul might be weighed. Mostly though, it is comforted by the thought of all the familiar faces waiting for her on arrival. As she walks to the box, she even manages a care-free smile. If it is her time to go, then let it be.
As her muzzle bumps the box 'choose me and get what you deserve', she closes her eyes and awaits her fate. Will it be painful?