Jangling with each step due to her heavily adorned neck, the mare is walking her new patrol route, which has become half the size of her usual, full valley rounds. If things were going as she requested them (there was never any telling if those she presided over would truly do as they were asked), she was a part of a large number of soldiers watching both the mountain passes and the valley itself, preparing for, what she assumed, was an eventual encroachment of the darkness that Deodat had warned of.

It is a good thing, really, despite the dangerous tone of it all. The threat of something outside the herd has taken her mind off her worries that there are knives aimed at her back by all those she lives among. It has allowed her to stress less about her co-leader and more about that which she was responsible for; and she finds it quite clarifying.

Currently, she walks with thoughts of the Moon in her head, the sharp words of the deity that had hurt quite badly on first impact, but had left lasting thoughts spiraling through her head. Perhaps the mistress of the night was correct; Illynx was queen of the damned. It was a bleak thought, but even she couldn’t lie her way out of the facts that she hadn’t even been a good person outside of those she lived with.

Even a horn couldn’t save all from her condemnations. She was a bitch, with only one friend in the world to call her own. And that friend was no where nearby; she had been run out by the equally heinous citizens that lived on the mountain with her.

She refused to believe that the Moon could not love her, however. They were words of a mother, punishing an overly wicked child; they were meant to strike fear in her heart, that she was without the light she had always found strength in. Pausing in her routine, she looks up to the pale blue sky of day, where the Moon’s face will hang in several hours once the sun falls away, and she knows that she will still look at the orb with reverence despite the loathing it will return to her in kind.

She would, however, take more pleasure in lightning storms; she would give praise to the turning of seasons, and seek to further appease the God who had not turned his back upon her. Perhaps the Lord of Lightning would understand her conundrum, having led her and her people to the Aurora Basin after they lost their home in the Edge; a fact that the Moon has seemed to forgive Mirage and her foolish following of. He was, in ways, a master of chaos; it was likely he understood her more completely than Moon would ever try.

Perhaps, she would even pray to the man of time and sky fire, the creator of the massive dragon that had left her limbs streaked with the white scars of electrical burns, and not just revere him for his strength and power.

@[Beowulf]
Beowulf first please, then others can join in (only if Eagle is okay with it). :3
Please don't tag me unless you need to for some reason. Would you like to continue being tagged? :3

There was a river once,
with many round stones
enchanted by shallow hopes
of embracing the ocean;
water is peculiar this way,
how its life is a line
that cannot bend or change
without the approval of its bed.