a crack of lightning, a icy cold whip lashes her face. Wet locks plastered to her throat in moisture the eagle screeches in rage, monstrous wings flapping against the force
of the coming wind with little more then a dent as proof of her efforts. Her sisters and she are being torn from each other, ripped apart and used as mop's against the rain that falls in sheets all around her. The white's of the eagle's sharp gaze glints in the darkness of the storm clouds, as one by one, she loses sight of her flock. This was not how it was meant to be, she thinks, as a bellowing cry escapes into the frozen air. They were meant to be together, to be one, they were meant to balance, to overwhelm. As one's body cannot function without its arms, or it's legs, or it's head, or it's eyes and lungs and all of it, yet the damned storm continues on, it thrusts her forwards towards the side of a rocky cliff.
Desperation is shown in the creatures struggle to stay in the air, struggle to keep away from the stony daggers pointed towards her chest, seeking blood, her death, seeking her fall towards the Sodom below. The avian's wings beat with frantic pace, one, two, three, one, two three, and she refrains a scream as the wind presses once more into her back.
As she hurtles towards the cliff's edge, she slides the lids to her visuals shut tight, awaits impact, and then - then she tumbles unto slick, smooth, rocky earth as she is forced with momentum towards the back of the cavern. Her side hits the rocky wall with a thud, and her head is not far after the rest of her ship as it sinks below the ocean's tide.
The last thing she remembers before the world flickers and goes out is her wondering if she will see her sisters again, if they are alright, if they have been spared the brute force of the hurricane outside.


The last thing she remembers for two years. Two, bittersweet years as she presses forwards, searching for her youngest sister Antiope, and her other siblings - Iris, Persephone, Selene, Cealestis, Hemera?
She does not know what has become of them, she does not know if they still live, and the guilt hangs upon her mind like the body of a dead man tied to a rope around a branch of a sturdy oak. The thrill of the escape, the happiness, the warmth has left her, burnt through like the flames of a forest fire, and it has left her in ashes.
Oh, she looked for them, sure, she looked for them for a millennial age, it seems, and yet she is hopeless, for she has found no hope, no diamond in the midst
of a rocky cavern. Are you alive?
Was she even alive?

The Daughter of Earth is not sure, as her hoof beats thunder into the ground below, not so unlike the sounds of the storm she had experienced first hand those years ago.
Is she dead, then?

The heat of this land is almost unbearable, weighs down upon her shoulders like the weight of the sky Atlas himself held up as eternal punishment for his deeds. The clink of the small glass container of ink, tied into her mane with string brings her back to reality with a harsh slap. Perhaps it's better if she were dead, the poison that the ink has inflicted into her blood burns her even now, she is turning, she is becoming like Her.
Bittersweet.

The Warrior Princess pauses at the edge of a pool of water, dust billowing into the air at the sudden pause of her hooves moving onward. Gazing down into the water with a icy expression upon her maw, she is quite aware she is lost.
She has not encountered another soul for miles now, and uncertainity begins to brim at the edges of her mind. Will this labyrinth go on, forever?
No.

The steady, firm voice comes from the back of her mind, the logical, collected part of her mind, that struggles to fight the insanity the ink brings with it.
Keep moving.
What, the Earth daughter queries, is the point?
And for once, she is met with nothing.

But silence.