The mare's unearthly presence has a surreal, detached affect on Imonada's weakened mind; in the chaos of addict-fueled pain, Brisa is a crack in the clouds, a sliver of glowing blessed light slicing through the darkness buzzing at the edges of her vision with surgical precision, a clean penetration that entombs her in a sunlit embrace. In comparison, Imonada was a bedraggled mess- once luxurious mane is now crumpled and frizzy, some strands plastered to her itchy and stale sweat-soaked coat. Her feathers, having not been preened in forever-long, jut out at odd ruffled angles.

Even the Monster lodged deep in her psyche was struck dumb into silence.

It's not enough, of course. It never was- a thread of explicit longing for a thing she yet cannot name worms its way through her heart with the onset of Brisa's illuminance, as if that shining light still threw shadows in the deep crags and hidden places as any other. Her startled expression subtly melts away, revealing a glimpse of pain that sunk deeper than even the one nested in the gnarled base of her wing would go, that territory reserved for the shattered spirit.

Instinctively, she begins to bristle with each step of the stranger--No, Brisa... Only to have that building tension slip away like a leaf in the current as the alabaster mare says something to her, in calm and reassuring voice, before running off. Gone. Not sure exactly what just happened, Imonada does as commanded, although her fumbling lack of grace keeps her rooted regardless. Once a spitfire, now a hollowed wisp with ribs glaring pointedly in a neat row at her sides.

She waits, willing herself to remain standing, patiently- without Brisa, she would be stranded, and the joy such a gift brings is tampered with wariness.

If she leads me off to be roasted, it'll a bit better than dying of dehydration. Watching the vultures circle.

Hope soars miles higher than she'd ever dream when Brisa returns. Sheer exhaustion spiced with curiosity and dumbfound, forces the gnashing demons at her doorstep to hush like humbled dogs. Imonada, pacified, lets her approach to drop the small, chipped piece of willow- but it's a good long minute of nothing but the gentle breeze before the pegasus carefully strains downward, scooping the bark up, letting it rest on her tongue and pressing it against the roof of her mouth. Instantly it begins to create a tingling sensation that floods her whole body. She sighs, inhaling like she'd never tasted fresh air before, and does not fuss when Brisa moves into place to support her. With a weak, sleepy nod, she waits for her to lead.