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The sun rises with open arms. Warmth. The glow brushes my face so yellow light reveals the charred powder of fatigue, the deep dried blood of my irises. I blink, eyelids slide over eyes and sting like gravel. I feel the warmth of Essetia beside me, filling this hollow soul. No body has seen abuse like mine, the weary legs have already disowned me, hooves losing their grip on the narrow path as it ascends. We're climbing a mountain. I roll my crusted gaze over to her white eyes with doubt rumbling loud in my gut. I don't even have the energy to sigh, to grunt at every screaming strain of muscle, at every wince of heartbeat. I drown in the rapid breath, the slow of pace. We're almost there, I hope, continuing to blink away the spots of faint. I feel sleep grappling my breath, slowing the rhythm of legs against air, against earth. The breath stings like the wind against my eyes.
I halt. I regret it. My head hangs to the ground, my body almost crumbles to the broken path, consumed in dust. "Essetia," I cough from parched lips, eyes narrowing on the upward climb, fear plastered pale on my face. "How much farther?"
The sun's arms cast a deep shadow behind me. The promise of the moon. I wish I could smile. I wish I could bring the light of the sun to my face, to my heart. But it is too soon for the warmth to grow on me like hope does, or redemption. There is too much climbing overhead to be safe yet. I have to keep moving. I command my legs just one more step. And then another. And another. The blood unwillingly pulses, pushes me along just a little bit more. A ragged wheeze shakes from my chest, blood tastes metallic in my mouth. I am almost home.
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