Harness your blame, walk through - any.

[Vineine]

***Births. Dark tunnels contracting and pushing ever towards brightness. Nature contains a multitude of them—the emergence of life, dampened and yawning, drawing deep for breath. Around her, everything is stretching. Pushing towards the cornflower blue above, reaching hungrily for sun. She moves easily, a supple swaying.  Happiness slinking across her muscles like a crack of lightening, shivering down the knots of her spine. Sunlight dapples still tough patches of snow here and there, protected by the cold of the ground and the loving, shielding arms of twisted boughs above. But around them, and through them, curl colours the likes of which the world has been deprived of for some time. She welcomes the bright young greens with a soft sigh, and bids goodbye to many things with an equally weighty exhale. ***She presses her right eye close to the bright yellow, blinking at it eagerly. A cowslip, not fully opened but striking still. Here and there the delicate whites of wood anemones gather in large swathes like floral carpet. She picks through them with careful, deliberate steps. Choice trees are beginning to bear the new and welcome weight of buds, their limbs and trunks slowly undergoing a mass warming. She presses through the cage of chilled air and reaches the ragged edge of the woods. Brome and meadowgrass sway, lifting from their previously prostrate position. The relief from the snow has them free to stand again. Melt water maps a shimmering array of inland bodies of water, varying in shapes and sizes. And the air smells of compressed and decomposing plant life.  ***Her nostrils flare greedily. ***She moves half out, already feeling the increase of warmed air beyond the trees. The mare stretches her thin neck, shaking her fine head and yawning wide. She is small, a large pony, really. Pinkish and delicate; soft brown eyes observant and wildly intelligent. A woman made wholly of nature, not entirely unremarkable, but nothing unique. She is made to shift in and out. At once pounding, vibrant flesh, and then moss and bent sapling, motionless. Ageless, like an old sentinel tree, but smooth and youthful, pregnant with adventurous yearning. A wanderlust. Or, more like a seeking. Searching for things she knows deep down do not exist. ***She desires an unnatural forever. The mechanics of it are impossible. Incompatible with nature. She spends her life coming to terms with this. Slowly but surely learning to release herself from past memories and future ideals. *magic-borne daughter of Prague and Elladora ****‘...Herself in the Heavens, her beam on the waves.’