She moves through the portal with wide eyes, her body taut with readiness for whatever lies on the other side. Eagerness had fueled her steps, but arriving on the other side, it slides from her all too quickly. There is frantic and violent movement everywhere. There are the sounds of pain and the cries of both the triumphant and the terminated. There is a pulsating energy rising from the ground itself that thrums through her veins and makes her want to move herself.
Glaw is so in awe of the scene before her that she doesn’t see the sprite that comes to her. It is only when a pinprick of warmth rings her head like a crown that she draws her attention back again. Even with the sprite companion, she finds she is not alone. She is not the only one here who has given their long night over to whatever comes next. She is not the only one hungry for answers. She might, however, be the only one chased here by twisting, trapping nightmares. But it doesn’t matter. In the end, she thinks she will have more to add to her sleep.
Because what is in front of them is unabashably horrible.
Warriors from both sides spar with such intense vehemence that she can only watch each skirmish for so long. A finned mare with closed gills marking her neck reaches forward and rips a mouthful of feathers from a winged, grey mare’s face. A raptor-feathered stallion rises up and lashes out at a gold-scaled mare with antennae poking in front of her ears. The resounding crack of splitting bone makes Glaw’s stomach turn.
The sprites explain where they are and what is happening. They go on to say that they don’t know why. How could they not know, unless the Baltians and Stratosians don’t know themselves? Could an entire multi-generational war have lasted so long without anyone remembering the cause? The red girl bites her lip to keep her composure. It seems so senseless, such a waste of life and precious time. Even as an unwanted child who grew up on her own, she knows that there is a purpose and reason for every existence. To snuff out so many seems unforgivable. They have to figure this out and put a stop to it. Maybe they can’t save those already lost, but they can prevent it from happening anymore. They can break the chain, together.
Glaw turns to those around her, their faces lit up under their respective guiding sprites. She imagines them out there in the field, torn by a war without reason or end. It could happen, she thinks. The Forest could be the next battleground, where she hides from her nightmares between the twisting trunks. The Den could fall, where the faeries had nurtured and kept her until she was hale and whole and ready for the world.
She grinds her teeth absently as she listens to the others. A fire lights within her at their inspired ideas.
Seeing into their minds may help, but not if they do not know the initial spark of the rift. They definitely needed to go back deep in time to the first rulers whose eyes filled with more than neighborly acknowledgement. Hate can be a strong motivator, but she thinks there has to be a reason. There has to be some moment that something went incredibly wrong on one or both sides.
“A simple misunderstanding, perhaps? Not even an all-out disagreement.” Maybe there was a cultural difference? Maybe the Baltians demand a bow and the Stratosians didn’t know? Maybe a Stratosian chewed a little too loud in front of a Baltian? Could it be something so little? “Can you take us back to the very first encounter between both Baltia and Stratos? Not even a ruler necessarily. Rumors can be spread like wildfire, right or wrong.” Often, the most simple answer is the right one.
glaw