Oh Flamevein, dear, care to chat?

[Gallows]

The smell of smoke and flame reminds me of my son. And it's not that I'm nostalgic or, you know, angry that he left with barely a "see you later, ma", but I don't instantly feel happy when the scent of soot fills the air. It's possibly the multitude of times I caught Kush in the act of playing with fire where it was going to cause trouble. Old mothering habits die hard. Still, I follow to see where it leads. Not to mention, I also don't want some idiot burning down my fucking home. And that means my idiot too, the dear boy. I actually like it here, and I intend to be here until the lights go out.  I find the source near a copse of trees. I do my best to land gracefully but that has never been my strong point and I am so far from giving a fuck about how I look. It was never tops on my agenda, and I'm not about to start now. Still, the stumble run I do when I land from flying is bound to be a bit of an ice breaker. It also has the benefit of making you feel like I'm not a threat. And that's nice. I prefer to appear average. Totally and completely average. Just your average immortal mind reading mare. Oh, and the wings. I have those, too. Big, bulky, magnificent (in my humble opinion) hawk's wings. I generally tuck them to my side when walking or running, but the wing span on these babies is monstrous. I admit to being a tad bit conceited about them. I trot nearer and nicker a greeting. We're just pleasant ponies having a chat, aren't we? "Please don't tell me you just want to watch the world burn, Flamevein. Otherwise we won't be friends, and I would so enjoy being friends." I grin wickedly, and wait to see where this conversation will lead."Gallows." Gods luck, this will be a fascinating diversion. G A L L O W S We must all hang together or, assuredly, we shall all hang separately.