On the day the sand turned red, I was out gathering materials for the wall.

I had been feeling so useless, you see, for my magic had disappeared with the sun, and I had thought that if I could only do something, I wouldn't feel like such a burden. Zenobia had been born, of course, and so I was less impaired than I had been previously, and so I had wandered off with her in search of metal. When I returned, I was stunned to see the damage that had been done - none of it, thankfully, to the wall, though I certainly would have liked to see them try. Immediately I was plagued with a desperate sense of guilt, for not only was my magic incapable of finishing our protection against invaders, but I had not been there to assist with the defense of our home, however little help I may have been. But then I looked down at my daughter, far too young for the dangers of war, and I was immediately grateful that I had taken her away for the day, though our search had proven fruitless on the dark, clouded morning. It was then that I thought of my mate - dare I call him that? - and though I longed to look for him, for I cared far too much for the steed, I knew that it was to Zenobia that my attention belonged, at least until everything was sorted out. And so I drew her back to the heart of the Throat, and there we stayed until it was clear that the fighting was over and victory was assured.

It is of this that I think as I soar through the skies, again plagued with that restless, helpless feeling that has been constant since the disappearance of the gods. Perhaps if I travel far enough, I will find my way back into the light. At first, I kept expecting the sun to rise; now, it is only a distant hope. Still, the moon has returned, and so perhaps my hopes are not unfounded. Light-trees show my path below, and as I near the Deep Forest, I sink lower and lower in the night sky, finally touching down through a small hole in the trees. It is even darker here, and I am momentarily thankful for the solitude. At least here, I don't have to pretend to be okay. Here, I don't have to explain to Zenobia who her father is and why he isn't around. Here, I can just be alone.

Can't I?

A flickering light catches my eye, and I look around quickly, tensing, for it has not been so very long since the invasion, and before that, my dearest friend's death - my nerves are still on high alert, to say the least. But I only see a gently fading light moving through the trees. Something about it seems to call to me; I cannot say what, exactly, but I follow it nonetheless. A small part of my mind hesitates, implores me to go back, to leave, but I will not. Perhaps it is the recent events, but I instinctively know that this light - no, these lights, I see upon closer examination - need assistance; when they begin to sink to the ground, I quicken my pace, and I just catch the raspy plea for help. It is a deer, a very sick one, of a variety that I have never seen before. My heart goes out to her, for her call was desperate, and I step closer; a young filly has beaten me to her side, however, and so I politely wait before vocalizing my own offer of assistance. "My name is Sohalia," I tell her, lowering my head so that it is close to hers and she will not have to strain. "How can I help you?" I struggle to keep my voice even as her lights begin to waver and die; am I to be left, again, with no way to help one that needs me? "Tell me, quickly."

"talk talk talk"
@[name]

Live... I want to live on fire
Die... I want to burn out brighter
Brighter than the northern lights
Want to live to feel the daylight