Barely conscious Erthë staggered through the forest, eyes unseeing and so weak she could barely place one hoof before the other. The magic that had kept the grievous wounds in her side closed had drained away a long time ago and blood dripped in a steady stream from her belly, crimson droplets that counted down the heartbeats she had left to feel. Too long had she wandered blindly, lost in the vast wilderness of the northern tundra with neither sun or moon to guide her. Much too far had she strayed as she tried to cut the road short and cross the mountains that shielded her homeland in the north, through uncharted terrain she had only ever flown across before.

She couldn't think anymore. Her mind was a maelstrom of fractured ideas and broken concepts, reason shredded until threadbare, held together only by cold fury and an inhuman determination to keep going. Home, was the one thing that kept resurfacing over and over again. She had to get home, had to see Evangeline, or Tilney, or Alune. She had to tell Tembovu what happened, and if her father happened to be there she would... would... but first she had to get home.

Dirtied and broken feathers dragged through the moss and the fern as she wove through the trees, staggering this way and that as though drunk, sleeping on her feet. Mist crept across the ground and this meant something, she knew it did - but what was it again, about mist and trees that sent such warm relief through her cold, numbing limbs? Erthë tried to focus her eyes to really look at where she was, but in raising her head she overbalanced and tripped, nearly falling; a painful grunt escaped her as the uninjured shoulder caught against a tree at the last second, but even this was enough to reawaken the pain in every cut, stab and tear that littered her left side. Black lights danced before her eyes again, alluring, inviting her to fall forth into the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness. It was tempting, so very tantalizing to close her eyes, to relax, to submit to that sweet nothingness...

But she mustn't. It was dangerous, Erthë knew that. She had lost too much blood; if she slept now she might never wake up again, and there was too much left to do. She hadn't done all that the Lady tasked her with, she hadn't turned in her latest piece of homework to Alune, and Kisamoa needed help with the Dead Lands... Gasping for breath the blood-splattered filly shook her head and pushed herself away from the tree in an exhausted motion, only to resume the slow, painstaking shuffle onward. It didn't even matter which direction she chose anymore; just place one cloven hoof before the other and everything would be fine. Even if her knees gave in and darkness descended over her for a second time, it would be alright.

Please let it be fine.

Big girls cry when their hearts are breaking