Blood and water. That was what he could smell as he laid in his own feathers, feeling the cold cave floor under his tired body. No power remained in his body, so he did not move. With heaving breath he closed his eyes against the gruesome scene that surrounded him.

He had snapped. In a frenzy fuelled with all his hate, he had torn out his feathers on his wings. He had felt this brewing for a time, and for the fear of dying of bloodloss, he had found some vines that he wrapped as hard as he could around the base of each wing. When most of the feathers was gone, he had not stopped, but continued to teare out tendons and small portions of muscles. The bones he could not break, even with all his might put behind each bite. Pain only added fuel to the fire of his hate of himself and his fate. He only stopped when the pain became too great and as the sound of his body against the floor, bouned from the stone walls, he relaxed. Bones broke under the weight of the heavy horse, a sound he greeted cheerfully. He had done it. He had eliminated his curse and finally taken control of his fate. With the choice of beeing earthbound for the rest of his life, he let his head down, taking in his surroundings.

There was almost nothing left of his once crimson black wings. He looked more like a wraith than a horse and only heavy breathing betrayed the life that still stirred in him. Pain flooded through his body, making him dizzy and constantly reminding him of what he had done.

It was so quitet now. Maybe he had died? No, the pain told him he was not. Would he die? He hoped not, but then again.. If he did, he would not have to find an answer to Africa's difficult questions. He could not share with her the reason behind this. He'd been pushed too hard, too far over his limits. How could anyone say that they knew how it feels like? They could not.

The blood began to smell now, and with a heavy sight thorugh his nostrils, he made the puddle move a little. Did he want to see the damage he had done? Of course not, but he had too, sooner or later. He made the coice to do it sooner. He raised his head to get a clear view of himself, as blood, meat and feathers stuck to the side of his face. Wow. He had done a good job, if he could say so himself. There was almost nothing left! Just a few feathers had escaped his teeth and bones hung loose without the support of tendons, skin or muscles.

"Write this down your stupid walls" he whispered as his neck failed to hold his head up. Dizziness and pain took him once again and as he drifted off, he felt satisfied with himself - for the first time in his miserable life.

Walking "Talking"

Windwalker

It was so peaceful. No thoughts demanded his focus nor energy, it was all quiet. And painful. He had not thought this through, but what the hell. He was finally free of the wings and the prison they provided. It would be no more what-if- or why-questions. They all lay on the floor, soaked in smelling blood. Soon they would be forgotten, as all must endure one time or another.

Ears moved slightly as he heard soft sounds followed by hooves. What a sight this must be for the poor souls entering. A small smile curved his black and red lips as his eyes slowly opened and revealed the brown beneath. One of them spoke, offering help if he wanted it and soon enough, a name followed. As silence roamed, Windwalker answered with a great effort. "I do not want my wings back. I tore them off for a reason". Heavy breathing followed the words and he managed to turn his head slightly to get a look at this Apollo.

"But I thank you for the concern.. Brother." It was not easy to keep his head this way, so he gave up and let it fall back to the floor. How long until he could stand up or walk again? He did not know, but it did not matter. He liked the floor. "I will clean up this mess as soon as I find a way to close the wounds" He said it as he laughed and tasted his own blood every time he closed his lips. This was just too funny to not laugh about. After all this years, he found a way. A painful way, but a way nonetheless.

Walking "Talking"

Windwalker

The cavern, though generously proportioned, soon filled with the stale confusion and steaming, sweaty apprehension, and it began quite sickening to breathe. She had explored some moons back, the lower portion of The Sanctuary and took leave eagerly from the writhing mas of bodies, as it seemed to expand still more; swelling with the arrival of countless wanderers from the outside. With more skill than others who had passed into the depths before her, Africa’s hooves clacked confidently against the cold, worn stone path and the sound resonated playfully off the carved walls surrounding. Naturally her eyes were drawn close to those depictions and illustrations which Midas had revealed to be their Helovian ancestors; the Gods also, when still the earth was but a blank canvas. The dappled creature admired the glowing story as she passed, smiling quietly to herself while all else seemed so wearingly grave.

Ahead the dancing illumination of the holy fire acted like a beacon in the murky darkness, and she was drawn to its familiar warmth easily- feeling deeply the presence of her lands patron therein. A strange scent laced the cool, moist underground air, and though it had been nearly a year since last the stench of blood had filled her sensitive nostrils, the smell of it here was unmistakable. The fountain nearby bubbled jovially into the rippling pool beneath, and after indulging in a silent moment of prayer, the Oracle turned towards it. Beyond though, her pale gaze noticed with a start, two stallions loitering by the room’s far wall- one collapsed; the other hovering above. The thrum of their lowered voices competed with the gurgling water; the crackle of the eternal flame, and Africa was forced to step closer to hear what they were saying.

The first voice was filled with concern and compassion, and it spoke of medics and wings. The young mare’s ears fluttered with troubled bemusement and as she wandered forward to offer her assistance to that soul who was unwell, she found to her dismay that Windwalker had been crippled by someone; his wings a tattered, bloody mess- and still more of the crimson liquid drained, pooling below him. Her jaw clenched, masking the panic as it swept into her kindly heart and she felt the strain of loss and bereavement for the second time in almost as many hours. Through glassy eyes she moved from the shadows; Windwalker had declined help and her head began to shake disagreeably.

"Apollo, thank you." She breathed warmly; unhappily, moving to the side of the unfamiliar stallion. "Please, stem the bleeding." Her velvet nose was reached towards the butchered limb closest, the odour revolting; the sight macabre. She could not bear the impact and with eyes closing, trembling lips were sent instead to find the cheek of her broken friend, to caress and nurture while the medic worked. "Don’t restore his wings, respect that wish if you would. My friend is a gentle soul who deserves not to die in this way though." She could not tell what had happened, but Windwalker’s resolute voice seemed to echo through her mind again and again- ‘ Either you help me or I'll break them myself…’

Africa