It took me some time to finally tear my eyes away from the Bitch Goddess of the Moon—I couldn’t stand the way she was so pretty. Like, Ma ain’t no nag, but she ain’t no Goddess either. Mesec’s Ma was just…res-splen-dent in this silvery, un-earthly way, like the air around her was giving her adequate shade from the blazing sun and cloaking her in this shawl of beauty and fucking glitter. The way she was holding herself, too, that added to it—supremely confident and prim and all that crap, like she knew she was beautiful and powerful all rolled into one. It was all I could do to keep my lips from twisting from this sour, bitter taste in the back of my throat; saying things like “You’ll always be my brother, man!” was pretty to say, but I couldn’t stand this irrefutable proof that he really wasn’t my brother.

Well okay, I guess he was was a sibling in a way—since, y’know, God stuff. Which made Hototo my brother too (which was WEIRD to think about, jeez) and that one little shitstain Aithininny standing over there with this yellow flaming guy who could only be associated with the sun. God of the Sun….the guy who stole(?) Ma’s memories. Here now was a neat little reason to justify my irritation with the little filly thingy. More than ever, I couldn’t help but doubt Pa’s assertion that we were siblings, standing strong against this threat—maybe we’d stand together and bitch at each other the entire time. I dunno.

My gaze then shifted to Hototo, something raw still there from seeing him, still kinda hurt that he hadn’t seemed to care to see me. His Pa (I guess) was this huge motherfucker that looked like he could wreck some shit if he had a mind to. But his eyes…like, they were the softest things ever, like there was no way ever he would ever ever ever wanna slap you upside the head for doing dumb shit. I knew there was a God of the Earth (hadn’t Miss Day Day told all of us kids about him at one point? I don’t remember…) and, looking at Toto’s hulking father, he was the embodiment of the cliff-side and the roaring, powerful waterfall and the tree I ran into when I was a kid. Well…it made sense to think that, anyway.

I turned my gaze back on my own Pa, this short, black, unassuming stallion who I still didn’t know, who seemed a whole lot more powerful and scarier than all the other heavenly bodies that were crowded around here. He was telling me where to go, who to talk to, who to trust (no one, heh), and it was like…he was shackling himself to the big fan like I was—or, maybe, he had already been shackled to the fan before me, shackled for thousands and thousands of years—or even, maybe he had created that fan himself. “Thanks,” I said gruffly, hesitantly, when he told me that I wasn’t alone. I was gonna brush it off all cool-like, like it wasn’t a big deal and that I could (at least try to) handle whatever was flying my way.

But that was a lie and I’m not built for that. “I…I am gonna need some help,” I conceded in a softer voice, scuffing a blood-spattered hoof on the ground. And I guess that was the first time I had ever asked for a helping hand in my life. And I didn’t even really ask--I just—I dunno, I guess I just wised up a little.