She thought she had come to usher an old, damaged land into a new era of rebirth. Though injured, though really she ought to have remained at home and left the clearing of the Spectral Marshes to others more capable, the young mare had relented to curiosity and swept south on a cold wind, winters last breath beneath feathered wings. But what she saw when she arrived, late and out of breath, was not the joyous celebrations she had expected, but battle.

Shocked and confused, Erthë circled over the scene and watched horrified through the canopy of barren trees below how the tides of combat surged back and forth. Even from a distance it was clear beyond doubt which side had the upper hand, and though it pained her she could tell that her brave, courageous kinsmen had finally encountered something that could not be beaten by unity alone. Magic crackled and burned the air and bodies were flung aside as the monster at the center of the battle displayed its might for all to see.

As the pale, familiar form of Nyx was hurtled through the air and landed with a crash on the ground Erthë screamed in outrage, every fiber of her body aching in sympathy; she knew exactly what that felt like, knew the sensation of tumbling through the air like that... She scrambled to find a place to land, ignoring the main battle in favor of seeing how the Sergeant had fared, and by the time she limped up to the figure on the ground and was able to see just how broken she was... it was too late.

No, this was not the peaceful gathering she had wished for... Instead, she arrived just in time to attend a wake.

Numbly Erthë stared down at the dead mare and listened to the sound of grief around her and to the shouts and bangs from the battle that slowly ebbed away, barely registering how her own eyes filled with tears. Ought she say something? Try to impart some words of comfort, say a prayer or offer a blessing... she was a Sage now, ought she not preach about death and rebirth and everything's place in the world, how nothing would or should last forever...?

But no.

Libertad had said it so well already.. (was it really him? He looked so different now, not at all like the scrawny foal she had known) and to say more would be... tacky. Pointless too, because what did these mourning children care about the workings of the world - they had just lost their mother.

In the end, Erthë merely bowed her head in respect and remained silent, content to give the family space while she tried to take in the enormity of what had just happened.

_________________________________________

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