Heaven seemed to stretch on forever.
In every direction, the mirror-like floor of the Flats reflected the soft hues of the late afternoon sky, creating a blissful purgatory for the lost traveler. No angels had been here to meet her, and no god had descended to pass final judgement. Had her sins been enough to not warrant her reception? Perhaps she did not deserve to have her afterlife sentence delivered by a holy being, and instead was simply meant to earn her way home through exile. Each year of solitude would be a Hail Mary.
The dying light of day shone golden in its final throes. The deep midnight blue of her frame was stark against the backdrop. Her cloven hooves. marred with the dried remains of splashes of white salt, were planted firmly as she scanned the seemingly invisible horizon. Years had passed since she had seen another soul other than in casual passing, though it was not due to a desire for solitude. Far out, a figure seemed to dance into sight, and for the first time in minutes the mare moved, stepping forward carefully. She let a nicker escape her lips, calling out to the stranger. As quickly as it appeared, the mirage dissipated, and left nothing but soft dying light. She let her stormy eyes drop to the ground, and a soft sigh escaped from her.
Slowly she proceeded forward, leaving a trail of small ripples across the water-veiled ground. Many moons ago, she had left her beautiful children, sired by the demigod of the moon, in care of her herd so that she could patrol the threshold. She had wandered along the far eastern border after arriving, checking the passes and deer trails for any newcomers to bring home to the Aurora Basin. She had been a proud general, even if only for a moment. A family, a war leader, a close friend to several; it had seemed as though everything was finally coming together. She was finally home. Her thoughts had been consumed by her happiness, and despite the rift that had formed between her and Ashamin, she could certainly work that out. Everything would certainly work out. The cobalt mare had always been vigilant, and was always a creature of grace. Every movement, physical or emotional, was calculated and careful. So when she misstepped, a single moment lost in time and thought, it truly was as if the entire ground beneath her was pulled away.
The mare crossing gently over the glassy flats didn’t remember anything before the fall that fateful day past the borders of the Threshold. She didn’t remember a stone at the side of the path giving way, her weight sifting forward as she crashed through the underbrush and scrub. The steep hill of the ditch was unforgiving, each stone and root and gnarled branch beating her body as she tumbled. The scream she let loose scratched the inside of her throat, cutting short as her head slammed against a jutting stone. She had laid at the bottom of the ditch for hours, the world passing by her, stars pinned high in the sky above her crumpled broken body. When she finally woke, and looked up at the cliffside that rose many horses high, she was unsure if she had come from way up there, or if she had walked down the stream that she was laying beside. She had walked towards the stream and gazed at her reflection, stared into the stormy eyes of a stranger, noting a gash on her brow and a crack in her horn.
From that moment, she had been wandering, unsure of who she was or where she had come from. Over the coming weeks her superficial wounds and soreness had subsided, and over the months the fur had grown back over the gash on her brow. The only remainders she had were absence and a broken blade. She had picked her way cautiously through the threshold, sneaking past sentries seeking to recruit, though her belief was that they were guarding their land, not seeking new members for their herds. Never did it cross her mind that she, too, had once scoured Helovia’s entrance in search of new blood. She skirted wide around the Green Labyrinth, no recollection of the battles that had ensued upon the four rifts, of her valiant effort during the battles, of the black cough that had filled her lungs until she was healed by an unnamed pegasus. Her hooves danced over the ebbs and flows of the Thistle Meadow, sneaking past old memories there like a ghost. She found her eyes glancing to the north, at some points the frosted peaks of her frozen homeland breaking the great blue of the sky. She had felt brief longing, unsure why the snow-capped peaks seemed to call her. To the south she moved, careful to avoid the Heart Caves, as their depths intimidated her, though she was able to summon a sparkling fizzing falcon that spiraled high into the air upon her passing, as if her powers had been born there from an egg that had rested beneath some stubborn terrible bird. For months turned to years she was a vagabond, staring to the stars, hoping they would point her way towards the answers she wanted.
That is how she reached her current condition, entering the Flats during a brief drizzle that had obscured the confusing reflection which had captured her in this heavenly prison as soon as the clouds had emptied. For several days she remained caught suspended in time and space. Night was falling quickly, the stars already beginning to peek out from the darkening sky. Maybe she was a part of this place? Was her pelt stolen from the gods here, and now she needed to return to fill the gap in the galaxies? She moved slowly across the mirrored finish of heaven, unsure if she were even alive anymore, or if this place was the promised land on the other side of the sky.
How could she be sure of anything, if she couldn’t even remember her own name?
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