The moon seemed to breath life back into Helovia, leaving behind neon flowers to blossom on the lantern trees that dotted random paths through out our world, along with small mushrooms and other plant life to glow magnificently twenty four hours a day. The fully developed moon sat high in the dark sky, equipping the slate of black air with twinkling dots. The decaying branches high above my head rattled together, creaking and moaning as the wind forced their weightless tips to move with little pressure.

Long white forelock flowed lazily straight down my skull, the thin ends straying away from the narrow path of my snout and falling to the right side. Down here, under the lifeless foliage, I could not feel the sweet bite of the clean air. I have found myself used to the sour surroundings of the bogs; the murky, thick air that radiated off of the cold water, the strange smells of the marshy paths that are so well beaten in, skunk cabbage growing like massive, ugly tulips in the depths of the death pond. And flies, oh how I hated the flies. Where they should be dormant due to the unbarring cold, they seemed to linger.

My left hark twitched at the grotesque thought of the constant buuuuuzzzz. I dipped my skull toward the squishy mud, nostrils flaring and allowing a snort to roll out mechanically. Forelock tossed around with the quick movement, the weight of my long mane shifting on my left shoulder at the same moment. Everything about this place was slowly driving me up the wall. I picked my head up, collecting my body into a perfected stance, all heels aligned squarely.

Purple eyes scanned the moonlit swamps, catching eyes with the dead bodies that laid beneath the cold waters, half submerged in the bile mud. I watched the frozen body blankly, it's white eyes boring right back into me. A single horn jutted from it's forehead, the end chipped off by god knows what; the mummy looked so familiar. Images of past faces raced through my brain in an angry rush, each and every one of their eyes digging into my brain as if they could actually see me.

One mare stuck in my head; her eyes a strange pink color, wet and full of built up tears. The play by play of her death attempted to claw it's way into my imagination, the brutality of her family's fall and death dancing like shadows behind closed eye lids. I forced my eyes open, ears automatically lying back on my starch white mane as I forced the demons from my head.

"Speak." Walk walk
@[Eris]