The Spectral Marsh has a reputation, it is true, though as the weeks have gone by, I have come to call it my home. It is not particularly warm; it is not particularly appealing to look at; it does not have the smell that marks a territory as one's own. Still, it is where my brethren have chosen to reside, and though I may be less mad than many of them, I share a firm sense of duty and affection with them, and so here I am. The murky waters that threaten so close to our well-worn trail are even beginning to grow on me, though the small plops I hear every so often flash a murky, rust-red colour across my vision. It is not a pleasant colour, but nor is it an entirely unwelcome one. I suppose it would be too much to ask to escape the blood-madness that holds the rest of my family (even if that family is only Seele, and she unaware, at that), but at least mine does not drive me to unnecessary violence. In contrast, healing is my calling, and with the return of the Sun and his light, my powers have been mercifully restored.

It has been a difficult time for me, I will admit, for one does not truly understand their reliance on magic until it is taken from them. Scrapes and bruises are easily mended with herbs and rest, it is true, but what if some illness was to befall our clan? What if the war that we had so foolishly (in my opinion) joined left one of ours mortally wounded? There is only so much that I can do without the proper toolset, and should one of ours die due to my inadequacy, I would be devastated. I am not interested in having another innocent, dead soul on my conscience. As if hearing my thoughts, I note a glimmer of light blue from my right, and I take note of Liebling's shadowy form and wince. Dread settles in my chest, but I shake it off firmly; the spirits will not drive me as they drive my sister. I am my own mare, not one to leap at their beck and call. Besides, today is about healing, not killing.

A branch snaps under my hoof as I walk our well-traveled path, painting a bronze splash over the steady brown beat of my pace. Before long, I find myself in our little encampment. A trill of yellow flickers across my vision, and as it clears I realize that Liebling has gone off to wherever it is she goes when not haunting me. I smile in spite of myself at the little canary that has bravely made its way this far into our marsh, and shake my head at how ridiculous I must appear to those around me. After all, they so rarely smile at nothing; surely they assume it to simply be a part of my madness. I resist the urge to laugh, instead making my way around to look at everyone. If any need healing, I will offer my assistance; they need only make themselves known to me.

"Talk talk talk."