Ocean washed against the rocks and fell apart at its feet, crawling back into the open. The mare watched it for a moment; the rocks with sea on the one side, and the smoking smoldering blues of the misty lava on the other side of the dark bed of ash that her bleak hooves had smudged themselves with. She remembered the time she had almost crossed the river to visit the shrines. But fate had then decided that she would not need to - would have another priority at that moment and would need to go to the very one place her soul was truly needed. Or so she thoughts. A month had passed now and in that time she had not been able to shake off the feeling that she would need to see the blues and blacks of the lava-island with her own silent eyes.

With the wind whispering against her back she looked through the fogs of the lava and the mists of the day to the ashen cliff: There where the shrines of the four gods stood taking wind and rain, catching the heaviest kinds of dust from decaying mortals coming here - to find something or nothing. They stood in silent tranquility. But what the priestess of the Sun was staring at was not the holy shrines, but a light feathered pegasus. In all the calmness it seemed like she was taking out her compassionate grace on the deities of their world. Or - for what did she really dare to know - perhaps the kindness of the pegasus was only a mindless mistake. A way to ease a troubled mind. But whatever the reason was, Maren walked towards her with silent steps - leaving ashen hoof-prints as she went.

The girl had stood there alone now for long enough with that itching dust on her soul; dust which could not so easily be pushed aside with an outstretched wing, like the ash from a shrine.

When the hooves of the tigermare paused, she stood next to the mare and her companions. One of them a spirit stag, which meant she was from the Throat. Do I know her? Her eyes turned thoughtful as mist cringed around them under a cloudy sky. Having not been here before she took her time to take in the unfamiliar air as she took a deep breath. Nevertheless curious, the priestess had glanced aside a couple of times; blinked twice to be sure the dear was not covered in the mosses of the earth, instead of the mint-colored markings. In the quiet she blamed the blueish hues around their misty meeting-site for that wrong assumption. Then again, the girl seemed like she had lived some lives already, still.

The pale purples in Maren's eyes glanced past the stranger at the ash that lay around the Sun's shrine, and she wondered how close-by he was. "It will be covered with ash again when the night falls," she mentioned suddenly when the wind took a pause from its whispering.

@[Laedere]

Maren

TURNING A SHADE OF AN ANGEL BORN IN A BRAMBLE DITCH, WHEN THE DOORS OF HEAVEN CLOSED.