A stray glance over the shoulder as she hurried towards the sword and the creature that struggled with it revealed a miracle. She hadn't really aimed as she threw the shard of crystal at the rampaging bear, but by some miracle it had embedded itself into the remaining eye. Whether it did any good was hard to tell because the Winter God was already screaming, writhing and struggling in the merciless onslaught. Never the less, the child felt a thrill of a most peculiar feeling just then. Of pity towards the creature she had just injured in her first act of violence, of satisfaction that she had accomplished a goal... and of joy, because surely this had helped someone. In all this chaotic madness, surely there was someone who had been saved by her action, even if she wouldn't notice now or be thanked for it.

Invigorated by this notion the child hurried up her steps and carried on with the task of transporting the broken sword, proud to be able to hand it over to the sparking girl, the black and white one who fought so bravely. Erthë watched in awe as she dealt the final blow to the bear, shuddering in a sort of numb horror as the ground trembled and quaked beneath the crumbling god, so absorbed by its death throws that she got careless. Someone stabbed into the dying flesh of the monstrum and sent sizzling blood spraying through the air; droplets landed on her neck and face and Erthë screamed in agony as it ate its way through woolly hair and tender skin, burning an eye that never saw much into true, complete blindness.

She forgot about the battle then and didn't even notice how the Time God butchered the bear and handed out its body like macabre trophies. She felt neither left out nor forgotten even though her name once had been called upon to participate, had no notion of jealousy or injured pride. All she knew was that she'd had enough. Everything was enough; the scent of blood made her nauseous and the moans, cries and mutters of the warriors cut into her ears like sharp thorns. She wanted quiet, cold, someplace far away from the battlefield she never should have stood upon.

The foal ran sobbing from the carnage, longing desperately for her Mother and her warm, loving embrace.