04-15-2021, 05:47 PM
Tornados from a butterfly's wing
She could feel her body being torn apart.
Every fragile nerve and tendon screamed as they snapped, ragged ends burning until they to were consumed. In the end, there was only a tattered, bloody mess remaining of the butterfly mare, alone at the top of the cliffs she had unwisely gravitated towards.
She hadn't even had a chance to scream.
That came later. Her skin pricked and ached as she came aware of it again. She could only cry out as sensation returned, and blood flowed too and from the heart that has so recently begun to beat again. Breathing was its own struggle, until the pain of living subsided. Until she was left with a shaking (but intact) body, and a tear soaked face, and enough awareness to realize that death hadn't gripped her tightly enough to stick.
The same couldn't be said for the yellowed bones at her feet. Someone's ribcage, smoothed with time, lay half buried in alabaster sand. A little further along a collection of mismatched hooves and femurs. Bones, everywhere she looked. Some of them further along in the decomposition process than others.
This stretch of earth was macabre. She felt that after all of what she had just experienced, this ought be the last stone. The breaking point where she simply laid down and told Death to try again, and get it right this time.
What she didn't expect was the all encompassing Peace that seemed to be woven into the very fabric of this place. It seeped into her skin like summer sun. Like... And she blinked. It was not just like the sun, it was the sun. Hot and bright and perfect, the celestial body hung in the sky as if it had never gone. Tears sprung to her eyes again, but this time she didn't mind them.
It was alright to cry whenever you needed it, but it felt especially alright when you discovered that your sacrifices had been really truly made a difference.
She groaned, suddenly exhausted. Her joints ached and she felt hollow and overflowing all at once. Blinking her eyes clear again, a subtle motion drew her attention. A brilliant smudge on the landscape that grew clearer as she focused on it.
It resolved itself all at once, a shining thing that she knew quite suddenly wanted to be a fox. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind, than it became truth. A fox, marbled black and white and blue-green bounded up to her, coming to rest perched on a convenient skull.
"Have some respect, please," she rebuked quietly, voice a thin croak on her dry throat. The fox obliged, surprisingly, and stepped daintily from the skull to sit beside it instead. Her stomach rolled unpleasantly.
The pony's neck curved to bite at her side, only to be met with a sharp kick from within. She froze. Examined again how she was feeling, really. It was the squirming, tight weight in her belly that confirmed what she'd already gathered.
She was pregnant. Very pregnant, and very far from home. How long had she been gone? It had felt like hours, but this was the evidence of months... Cat-like, the marble pelted fox twinned between her forelegs, warm as a miniature sun. A painful held breath released from deep within, and she fought down the rising anxiety, focusing instead on the little creature.
"I haven't got any idea where we are, do you?" She asked, plaintive. Her wings fluttered weakly above her, the shadow dancing across the sand, almost masking the nod the creature gave. She was too tired to be surprised. "Lead on, then. I'm ready to be home." To see who was left there.
The thought nearly froze her again. Cheri and Mem and Reave; what had happened to them? Her throat constricted, a sob threatening to well from her. The little fox wasn't waiting, though. Already it's bottle brush tail was blending into the white sand, and she knew she wouldn't get home quickly on her own. Desperation forced her forward, her little guide staying several lengths ahead, not stopping. It was a good thing. If she stopped, she didn't know if she'd be able to get going again.
Against all odds, she began to recognize the landscape as it changed around her. Trees that had been place markers before still stood, even if they were bare. The path underfoot was disturbed, but gradually she began to recognize that too. Only when the trees began to tower impossibly high though did she begin to relax. She was almost home.
...Amarine