She waits anxiously on the outskirts while the odd man talks to the equally odd mirror, her own memories of the avalanche of living things that had descended upon herself and two toys (one quite favored and the other new – it was quite distressing) vastly different than those that twined in the mad mind of the one who called their keeper. What she recalled was fear, pungent and almost thick enough to cut with her blade as she had dashed away, hoping to outrun their teeming limbs and the death to be found beneath them.

Animals did not flee in such a manner from normal circumstances. The woman had seen too much darkness in her time in this land to expect anything less than impending doom, and she would rather be prepared this time for the onslaught – the last had caught them unawares, had captured and embarrassed her as she was morphed into one of their distasteful forms and forced to be saved by a skypony named Midas, and had taken many of her herd as well.

She looked at one now, framed by the eerie glass surface that reflected nothing that was easily deciphered and was surely not a reflection of the wild eyed and courteous Haruspex that called out to the God in his place of rest, in whatever realm that was.

There was a time not so long ago when she might have dwelt on where precisely that would be – the Moon’s location was simple, for she could be seen, the vain bitch that she was. There were not, however, storms ever present and brewing, spouting lightning across the land; though common, it was certainly not a place that a God would find suitable to watch those he kept after, and so the notion was perplexing, enticing to the child that lived within her even as she had borne her own ilk into the world.

She does not have time for such fanciful thoughts anymore, nor any room. She does not even have room for words and the usual cordial exchange that passes between herself and the whimsical man when they meet – she is silent, almost haggard, the first signs of her age and responsibilities revealed in the slump of her frame when she cannot be bothered to seem beautiful and made of stone.

All she wonders is if there is anything she might do to slow the onslaught that is surely coming, if they even have time.