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The God was silent as Rasta spoke. In his paternal wisdom he knew that this was still apart of the grieving process for Rasta. Speaking of what she had gone through, how the past few seasons had shaped and started the process of mending her soul, were just as important as the seasons she spent without a voice. It would all come together for her if her heart truly sought to be healed, her soul would follow. If the mare were not as diligent as the God knew her to be, she would have drown by now. Her soul, tattered and broken as she described it would have been beyond repair. But for the love and temperance and dedication she showed, she had healed herself more than any magic he could have given to her would.
In pained him just as it did her, to hear her speak of those with companions who had been lost - or in the case of Phaedra very nearly lost. The God of the Earth was the keeper of such beings, and he took this role very seriously. Each bond was sacred to him, and each strand that wove two souls together hold some of his magic, some of his essence. When it broke, it was not only the bonded who felt it. The God did as well. "Phaedra..." He mumbled gently, thinking of the mare who was no more. "It is worth considering ... The loss that you - Aurelia and Cirrus - have felt at the loss of a companion. Your souls are strong enough, for the most part, to bear such a tragedy. You might feel broken, battered, and incomplete having suffered an insurmountable loss but for the companions ... Their souls cannot bear the loss of the bond. When Phaedra was murdered, Stella was murdered too in a way ... Her soul could not sustain life without the connection that had resonated within her very core."
Sighing, the God wearily shook his bearded head. Now was not the time for lectures. Rasta knew perhaps better than most the obligations and costs of a life with (and without) a companion. "Remember that. The cost is not merely to you, but to those who are bonded to your soul as well."
A genuinely joyful smile parted the God's large lips as he let his sadness fall off of his robust shoulders like an avalanche. The weight of the murders and the loss of more creatures was not one he would ponder now. Not when Rasta had triumphed so marvelously at her task.
"I am pleased with you Rasta. You have done what I have asked in spades." An earthen wing pulled away from his flanks, cradling a small egg. It was warm with life and nearly ready to hatch. "For you." He offered gently. Moving towards the mare with ease and grace, he lowered his muzzle to her wither. Exhaling against the pale flesh, a bundle of flowers bloomed and painlessly intertwined in her mane. With the love and care of an adoring parent, the God placed the egg into what now appeared to be an organic pouch of sorts, elegantly comprised of Rasta's golden mane and small white flowers.
Congratulations! Rasta has received her companion! She has also received a clump of white flowers from the Earth God. They will remain in her mane until the egg hatches. At that point they will grow together into one single solitary blossom that will never wither. If you like, it can stay attached to her mane, or she may keep it elsewhere.
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