My thoughts are the cold kind,
I've got storm clouds brewing behind my eyes

Dusk brought only minimal relief from the merciless heat. The air remained stifling, each breath of wind as ferocious as dragon fire, ready to singe the hair on a body or burn the flesh away from crumbling bone. Not even the ocean breeze granted relief, only a different kind of oppression - moist rather than dry, choking as each breath appeared to swell in the throat and congeal in the depths of straining lungs. From every direction it radiated towards her, from above and below in equal measure as luminous lava oozed lazily along, brightening the deep darkness of night just enough that she was able to stay on the path. Narrow and winding it was, but Erthë was familiar with the treacherous footing - or as familiar with it as anyone could be, given how the constant spew of magma kept altering the winding trail.

She preferred to make the trek by foot. It would be easy to reach the shrines from the air, to let the thermals carry her and spare herself the struggle of limping over the lava fields. Somehow she felt that it would be too easy, almost like cheating. With the passing seasons she had grown accustomed to pain, to taking the longer path, had learned to curb the worst of her impatience - the very reason she had acquired injuries in the first place. Surely the gods had a reason for withholding their healing graces from her, surely there had to be a meaning to her suffering. They did not have to tell her what it was, nor did they have to help her. She was not a child, not helpless or weak; Erthë could take care of herself, and she proved this to herself and anyone who stopped to notice by picking the harder path.

Four flowers rested in the crook of a wing. They were already wilting, stalks softened and bowing from a lack of water and petals fading. They had been beautiful when she picked them, dewy and glorious in their hardiness, proud in defiance against the drought. Now the girl cast dubious glances at them, regretting that she hadn't picked a more enduring gift to place by the shrines. Maybe crystals from the Heart caves would have been better, or shells from the beach. Would the Lady and her brothers accept these sad studies in decay? The gesture was well meant, but would they see it as such - or was she inadvertently throwing insults at them, casting some ancient and long forgotten curse of ingrown hairs and colic on the most powerful beings in Helovia?

"Lady, please have mercy on me and take this token of devotion for what it is meant to be, not what it looks like right now" she mumbled under breath as the shrines came into view.

The filly bowed dutifully before all of the shrines, placed her flowers before each and said a quick prayer, but it was before the abandoned abode of the Moon she lingered the longest. Thoughtfully she leaned in to let her eyes trailed over obscure runes she thought she could almost read. Though the signs were unknown to her the sight of them brought her comfort, like a whispered promise on the far side of the heart - sweet and a bit painful, like the embrace of a mother long since dead and decayed. But never forgotten.
Absent-minded Erthë pushed away rocks and pebbles with her feet, brushed the shrine free from whatever cobweb and dust that might linger and cared little that pearly tail hairs were dirtied and stained in the process.

What did a bit of dirt mean, in the end, when she gladly would offer all that she was in the service of the Goddess?

Erthë

And my heart will be blacker than your eyes
when I'm through with you