[MASSIVE POST. Very bottom is only relevant, after the first page break.]

We lose ourselves in the night of the Throat. Having fled the scene with the unicorn girl and the rest, we did not stop running until we hit the deep recesses of the desert. We stumbled the whole way, scared out of our wits and overwhelmed by the voice that still echoed like ominous thunder in the backs of our minds.

Breathless we halted and clattered onto the ground in a heap of white. Sweat had turned our hides dark and shiny. The dust would be eager to cling to it, but vanity would have to wait.

"What happened?" Olema asks in-between gasps.
"There was so much," I groan, sheltering my head beneath extended forelimbs. "Too much..."
There is nothing for a while and then I meekly whisper between my hooves, "It's all ruined now isn't it?"
I can nearly feel the glance Olema gives me. I hear her rise to her feet. It is not a fluid sound - she is weary. "Maybe, maybe not. We certainly left more of an impression than we should have," Olema says kindly. She still believes this can work after that? I pull my wings over me like a blanket, hiding in their plush folds.

"Stop that," Olema snaps, a forehoof striking the dirt with finality. She does not understand the immense weight bearing upon me, how could she comprehend it when even I am still struggling under it? She will not tolerate this self-pity. I am sick of it myself, but I feel so weak under the oppression of these memories. I am surprised I have anything left to feel at all. "The game is still in play. We have to ready our next move," says Olema as her body begins to ripple, like she were little more than a pond disturbed by a stray pebble. This I do not see, hear or know however as I continue to sulk under my feathers.

Nestled in my cocoon I pinch my eyes shut, hoping to block out the distractions of the tumults world around me so I can sift through this mayhem. This is unlike anything I've ever processed before. Granted, I've only copied a hoofful of individuals so far, none have compared to this amount of detail - such intricacies locked up in all variety of sensors. I can see the girl's childhood unfold before the backs of my eyes. I hear the playful chimes of her sister's, Ktulu, voice as they play on the Tides, the aroma of salt so strong it sets my mouth running dry with thirst. I can feel the spray of sand across my fetlocks as though I'm running down the pale shore this very moment, despite the truth I know to be that hard, warm rocks hold me now. It is an unkind sensation of being lost, like staring at a tree and forgetting the whole of the forest. Every tree I notice, every gentle loop of the branch or placement of the leaves. Will I ever make my way back out?

"How does she live?" I murmur, mostly to myself, mystified. She is young too, not many seasons older than us, yet I cannot recall half our days to a shadow of this extent. The idea of living this sends a cool shudder of displeasure ripping through me. I want to shove it all away, have it out of me!
Once again Ophelia's warning screams in my ears. I presses them to my skull and lay my cheek against the red dirt, content to stare into the dark of my body's cave. The roughness of the ground feels like a nice reminder of reality as I continue to waltz through Ophelia's life.

Sudden light envelopes the me as an ivory horn lifts a wing out of place. I squirm at the intrusion, pale eyes blinking ruefully against the stars and the moon while I jerk my wing away from the touch. I'm instantly annoyed that Olema is pressing this issue. My head aches and my body feels woozy - will she not let me rest a second?
The haze of my vision begins to clear, but the face that meets me is not that of my sister's as I expected, it is Ophelia's. I cry out in fright, my throat constricting as my heart lurches into it. I hurl myself away from the being that has caused me so much recent suffering. In my haste I fumble over myself, only pausing when I feel the strength of a rock pressed up against my back.
"It's me!" Olema calls out, her voice a perfect match to the unicorn's, but her tone insistent and kind, despite the mild laughter in her eyes.
My eyes are like ice rimmed with snow when I turn them upon my sister - no, Ophelia. Sloppily sitting I'm nearly panting as the panic leaves my body like a cruel fever breaking.
The ice splinters and cracks, features turning into something akin to a cornered dog. I am furious.

"OLEMA, DAMNIT!" I shout as I scramble hotly to my feet, shaking the dust off me with as much dignity as I can summon.
The face of Ophelia slips into a grin of all mischievous nature, "I'm sorry, but I had to get you up somehow." I mutters moodily that such is not the best way to accomplish that, though up I am. I flick my tail with the remainder of my annoyance, scowling at the dirt to avoid looking in the face of my oppressor.
Opehlia's red and blue eyes watch me, cautiously studying my reactions as she slips forward. She tilts her head awkwardly, unfamiliar with the long horn and over sensitive to it - the last thing she'd want to do is gore me, I'd hope. Her mane shifts with a hushing noise as she uses finesse to work her muzzle alongside my pale neck, the velvet nose gently stroking all the stresses and misgivings from me.

Or at least, she tries to.

I stiffen and sidle away from the touch. Ophelia remains, eyes a sea of hurt, though I do not spare her a glance. I don't care at this moment in time, my anger still balled up inside me, but more importantly I hate when she is someone else. She tries to tell me it's still her, but how can it be when she literally is someone else, something else? The touch is always different and everyone is hideous compared to her beauty. How could I stand it? That she thinks I could sickens me. I shudder, the unfamiliar caress lingering like a ghostly kiss against my nape. I decide I need to start explaining this Ophelia to her, if only to appease her anxiety and to preoccupy her from trying to touch me again. It will take all night and perhaps longer for my sister to master this complex being we've taken in.

---

"What is his name again?" Olema/Ophelia asks me. I give her a look of exasperation, which she returns with a plead. We're both exhausted from trying to learn this girl, and we have slept little. I try to forgive her, although it's difficult when the face belongs to her. My lips settle into a frown before I sigh and scrounge up the answer.
"Paladin. Paladin the Valiant. Now go and remember what I've taught you!"

She flashes me a smile, her horn glinting in turn with her teeth, before she spins away and strides down the desert. I look on as she leaves, red and white tail streaming in the breeze of her speed. "We have to find a better way," I tell the wind. "This one is too dangerous. And it will only be one of many." My heart tightens. At a slower pace I follow after her. There is little place to hide in this open hell, but I will slink behind boulders and bushes. If it comes to it maybe I can help her. If only I could communicate with her while she was impostering, then this illness in my stomach would dissipate.

---

I approach the figures on the horizon line with confidence. In the past nights since stealing this form I have grown more accustomed to it. Despite the ache to feel normal, I haven't slipped out of her image. Surema seemed to be taking this one especially hard and I feared she'd accuse me of laziness if I did not hone my knowledge of the one thing I had control over.
I smiled into the sun at the thought of my grumpy half. Although I knew she was spooked, same as I had been, by the implications Ophelia had spoken in our minds. More than that too, Ophelia proved, intense. I could not let myself wander, there was too much I would miss. Ophelia was not the type to wander.

Delicately I arrive before the two of them, all grace and poise as I demurely halt between them. Normally I would assume a child would greet their parent, but in this case Surema warned me of Ophelia's distance to her kin, especially this black dun, her father. "Good afternoon, Kri, Paladin," I say politely with a hint of a smile reaching into my multi-colored eyes. I tilt my head girlishly, my horn at ease though I am most wary of it still. "How are the Foothills faring?" I ask conversationally, although truth be told I am interested. I have no idea, nor do I think Ophelia does, as to why Paladin is here.