Steps rattled across black stone.

A soft blue glow silhouetted the mare as she traversed the wide bridge, her gait fluid like water as ocean colored eyes danced curiously about, carefully regarding the bubbling lava below with latent curiosity. The way it percolated and flowed and trickled reminded her of rivers, snaking its lazy way through this black wasteland. Breath caught in her throat as she leaned over the edge of the bridge, unstable and wobbling, heat billowing across her features as she gazed at the glowing liquid rolling between cracks in stone. She laughed, breathless and exuberant, the rush of danger thrilling up her spine. Huyana wondered what it would feel like to be enveloped in this luminous magma—would it sink through your skin, oozing over your tendons and seeping through bone? Would you die right away, or would your death be a slow, painful one, lava seeping into your mouth, your nostrils, your ears. Ears flicked backwards with apprehension, a sudden caution reflected in the blue of her eyes. The rain girl backed away from the ledge she had stood so precariously upon, tail lashing with circumspection. This was dangerous; she would not risk her life, nor her child's, for some silly whim, some careless mistake.

She let her hooves take her elsewhere, prudence written across her supple gait. Huyana was noticeably less graceful in movement and figure as her belly began to round out with the last few months of pregnancy. Every step was heavy and discreet, perhaps careful not to disturb the dreams of the unborn that was cradled peacefully in her womb. Sometimes it would quiver within her, and she would laugh with the strangeness of it—the oddness of having another being nestled inside of you, swaddled in your flesh, taking sustenance from your own blood. Every breath counted for two, but she was not alone; she would never be alone after this. A child was a great responsibility, something that would turn your life upside down—an obligation you could not so simply shrug away—was she ready for that?

Head bowed down with the burden of her thoughts, Huyana almost did not notice the familiar grullo as she came upon the island of the shrines. It was only the sadness of his words that made the rain child take notice of him, ears flicking toward his familiar voice curiously.
I just don't know what else I could have done. She paused, tilting her head lightly, feeling like an intruder in some strange dream. Fajira, the little pale White, was perched upon an altar, blooms spread out like a carpet around her. The scholar held her breath, kept it tight in her chest like a secret as she approached on tentative hooves, swollen body swaying lightly as she approached him, curious and sad for him—Lace was kind and wise, and it disheartened her to see him so miserable—she wondered what made him so, even though it was his cipher to keep. "Sometimes, it's best not to know," she murmured softly into the warm night air, pausing several meters away from him, offering him distance in case he refused her company. Solicitous eyes wandered over the stallion, studying him with the vigilance of a scholar, whiskers quivering studiously.
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