Eventually, tears dried up; you were a lake drained, a dam broken, the water gone to the sea. At the very least, that's what I told myself. My eyes were raw and dry, as if I had scrubbed the gritty sand making up the desolate Dragon's Throat into them. I'm not sure how long I cried for. A long time, for certain. Yet eventually, the hurt hardened to anger, as it always does in life; and so I fled the foothills tossed by the wind and guarded by the pillars of stone, mountains tall and more stern-faced than my leader, the Constrictor herself.

I told myself I would not cry any longer, and the tears no longer fell. Hotaru might call me petty, disruptive, shallow and weak. Maybe it was true. But I was not useless. I could- I am- strong. Instead of hanging my head in shame for the truth, it would strengthen me. They could never use those words against me if I used them as my armor against the vicious world- armor and a dagger thin and long, ready to scythe down my next victim, stab them in the back if that is what the Grey wants. Unlike my twin, I will never leave my herd cradled close to my big, soft heart. They are my family, my blood (not really, but you know what I mean) and my bonded. I wouldn't just leave because of some idiotic family feud. You see, Ru has changed me with angry, so careless words; for the better I tell myself, but to be honest, what has changed but my quickened descent to hell? I will be my mother, but more beautiful, more persuasive, more ruthless. Again and again I vow to myself that I am strong, I am tough, I am untouchable (unless I want to be touched by that prince I'm still waiting on).

I'm lying to myself again, trying to make myself feel better. Truth is Hotaru hur... never mind.

She has made me stronger, that's all that matters.

The mercenaries fight at the edge of the world, so I run fleet-footed south, curious to see how our temporary allies fare as they attempt to mount their attack on the Throat. My heart thud loudly in my chest, almost frantic, barely controlled, rumbling against my rib cage, fighting to free itself. I ignore my stupid heart, the way my chest heaves hard and my lungs burn for more air, my legs ache for a break. But I don't stop, and I won't. Stella told my mother once that I can be terribly stubborn sometimes. It's true- and I'm not sure if being stubborn is a fault or something good. Maybe it can be both.

Isn't everything a little bit of good, little bit of bad?

The sand is cold beneath my feet as I slow, breath rasping, a thousand knives scraping at a chalkboard. Moonlight illuminates the Throat with a silver brush, pale grays and smoky chalks. Black water, tossed with pearl foam, roar against the beach, thundering and rumbling against the soaked sand. It's faded against the screams of war. I have never seen war before. Crimson flowers on the porcelain, the elixir of life dripping from wounded bodies. Shapes, dark and titanic in the moonlight, crash together with the thunderous smacks of hard-muscled flesh hitting one another. I cannot see the appeal of battle right now, where the sounds cut at my ears and salt burns in my nostrils from so much fucking blood spilled. I trip over something, and my heart thuds in my ears, and I scream, and then I'm falling to the ground and then I leap to my feet. It's just a smooth piece of driftwood... not bone, nor gristly red muscle attached to some cadaver (I know that's totally unrealistic considering bones would have to go through the decaying process, but I was scared, okay?).

I watch the war wage on. More unicorns than pegasi lie battered on the ground.

A black pegasus tipped in blue flies above me. Spooked by the sudden thought it might be a Throater (and it would be not good if I was caught), I spin around, hooves digging into the soft sand, and race from the battle, bringing home the news that I think is slowly becoming clear.