Burn slow, burning up the back wall; Vanquish

[Volcan]

Volcan

Burn slow, burning up the back wall
Long roads, where the city meets the sky

She doesn’t remember the years. Three, to be exact. In fact, she remembers nothing at all, or shall I say, knows nothing at all. Three years dedicated solely to the alternate dimension, frozen in time. The girl knows nothing of this; she knows nothing.
 
The sands are her first sensation, much as they were her sister’s (these sands, however, are blazing; Vi’s were damp, granular). The particles cling to the newborn’s damp silver-roan fur, as though she has been freshly birthed from the Desert’s very depths. A shock of magic disturbs the acrid air as the child apparates into this dimension, but Volcan takes no note of it; the girl’s mind tolerates the magic, just as it has for three years.
 
Shivering despite the great heat of the kingdom, the small bundle blinks incessantly, blinded by the great light of this reality. Twisting away from the sun, the child bleats quietly to herself, disgruntled by the suddenness of her existence. Managing to open her slivered blue eyes as her resolve hardens, the filly snorts, sand billowing about her face.
 
The noises, of course, are washed away by the great winds of the Deserts. Ears pinning neatly to her skull, the newborn snaps at the invisible current, teeth clicking together uselessly. Snorting once more when the wind does not obey her silent command, Volcan becomes aware of her appendages and their many uses, and she scrambles to them messily. She does not fall.
 
Almond-shaped eyes scanning the endless horizons as she teeters and totters, the magically altered newborn shuffles awkwardly forward, unsure of her destination but positive that, out here, no one will find her. As her movements solidify into real steps, the sand between her joints begin soring her baby-skin. Pausing with irritation, she spreads her legs and violently shakes her still-damp body; logically, not one grain ought to have fallen from her. Yet the girl’s sheer will – and hidden powers – bid every particle fall until at last she stands with roan fur glistening with her mother’s moistness. 

Badger-face determined, she continues her trek, hoping the grumbles in her stomach will be away soon.

This is not the end, this is just the world
Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl

lava texture © Mavrosh-Stock

Maybe Yael wants in on this as well? Totally not against her joining the thread, if you see this, Sarah