For the longest time she put off the long journey to the red southern island, procrastinating the inevitable until the changing seasons forced her into action. It was neither the journey nor the destination that put her off her food, but rather the reason for the visit in the first place. The people who would be there to receive her, and those who would not be.

Mostly the last, actually.

When winter still reigned she could pretend it had never happened. The battle in the snow, the nightmarish scenario of a friend, a parental figure, a loved one being dragged away, forced to leave and not come back - while the clouds reigned and the days remained short and dark she could convince herself that it had all been a nightmare, a terrible dream she could wake up from. She could blame her helplessness on the weather, on the season, hide her guilt and sorrow and shame in the deep darkness of the night and pretend all was well with the world.

But it was not. Badger was gone, and with the melting snow this fact, like so many other hidden things, steadily returned to existence. Unable to hide the truth when the bright spring sunlight illuminated each shameful detail and highlighted the part where Erthë had been there yet done nothing to prevent it, she swallowed childish feelings like pride and cowardice and set out on the long trek to the sea.

She had made the journey across the straight before, but never had she been so reluctant to face the long flight to the off-shore herd land as she was this time. Teetering on the edge of a cliff with the porcelain cloves clinging tight to the red rock she felt the force of the wind like a battering ram as she measured the distance with watering eyes. Ashen locks whipped and thrashed around the face, pushed back from neck and cheeks one minute only to abruptly blast forward again, obscuring her vision in a cloud of silk. It was fine by her, really. She did not want to see, did not want to know that she would make it with plenty of energy to spare. Erthë did not want to go at all, because the Throat without Badger was sure to be a desolate, barren place, harsh and ugly and nothing at all the way she remembered it. It didn't even help to know that she had other acquaintances there, people who knew her and recognized her face; instead the thought of their reactions when she told them about what happened filled her with cold, dreadful premonition. They would hate her, wouldn't they. Maren, Ghost and the others... they would blame her for failing to protect their fellow, their healer, their family. They would blame her like she blamed herself, another soul lost on her account - there was no denying it.

Besides. It didn't really matter how much she liked any of them; they were not Badger. A hundred smiling faces could never make up for that one, who had been with her from the day she was born.

Another horse might have run from the heavy duty of informing the herd of these grim tidings. Erthë could have too, it was just that the thought of doing so, of turning her back and leaving the matter to sort itself out never occurred to her. For good or for bad she had to act - that was how she was, how she had always been. It was impossible for her to leave something to fate when she had a chance of making a difference - and in this case, informing the Throat might mean a way to retrieve her kin might appear. To Erthë that chance, however slim, was all she needed to set aside her own discomfort. To her, it was all encouragement she could ever ask for.

With a final, heavy sigh the young filly spread her wings and leaned into the wind, allowed it to sweep her off her feet and carry her off, away from the mainland and out onto open sea. The flight across the violent waters was not pleasant, the wind was strong and the waves rough - but she persisted, and had strength enough to keep on her wings even as graphite-gray waves were replaced by ochrea-red dunes.  Without penetrating deeper than necessary into the territory she circled the sky, making herself a target, a beacon for anyone to see. It would be difficult not to notice her presence; like a cloak or maybe a toddlers comforting blanket she swept midnight around herself where she passed, let darkness veil her passing and replaced the sun with velvet skies and the cold, pale light of distant stars. The moon was absent in this magical night of hers - whether because this was not Her season, or because they had entered the realm of the Sun Erthë did not know - but she missed the gentle brightness none the less.

It is always easier to be strong when you know someone to be watching. This time, for better or for worse, Erthë was on her own.

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Waiting for the rain I'm bracing for the thunder
A twig that wouldn't sway in the wind