Birds chirped around her. The smell of renewal, of Birdsong, was relaxing to her senses. Still, she felt disorientated and lost, could not comprehend what she was seeing as she walked towards something that she didn’t mean to walk towards. Instead of walking south, like she told her hooves they should, they kept on strolling north. However, there was for some strange kind of familiarity in the steps she took, the grass she smelled, the dust that hugged her as the wind caressed her back and pulled her ivory mane, that she was sure this could’ve been the path to the Dragon’s Throat. Yet, her other half of her brain was strangely aware that her orientation was off.
Her sight was strange; grey. Black sludge dripped from the corners of her eyes, framed her golden irises with the dark-grey of something foul, something sick — Because again, she was. This time, however, it was different.
The world changes, these paths are worn but I don’t know them — Or do I? She speculated, as something in her head decided she might as well just let her hooves wander. After all, they had done so for many years until she got to Helovia. They were used to the ways, programmed to seek out the exotic, find the new. Besides, she could not deny the fact that it also oddly intrigued her, fascinated her; her traveler's heart swell up once more for no reason at all.
Somewhere along the path she simply concluded that her mists were retiring themselves in her brain, which could be why it felt so cloudy there. Infected by the disease, Maren wasn't totally aware that she could hear well, or see well, or smell well — but she did still somehow managed to get the impulses through and translated. From where? She didn’t know.
Her heart jolted when all of a sudden she felt cold water falling over her body, and with the shock vibrating through her body, she ran forward. Only half she realized that she had walked through a waterfall, entered somewhere she was not entirely sure she was allowed. You’re in the Hidden Falls again, from the festival, she tried to explain to herself, but her senses did not agree with her.
Maren was stuck in a state of confusion and abnormality.
So, slightly wet now, the Throat’s diviner walked onwards. Then, for some (again) odd reason, the aimless wandering of her eyes stopped to fixate themselves on the dark figure of a bird sitting on something above her. This was important for some reason and Maren’s eyes wandered towards what the bird was looking at. She only sensed them now: A mare had just birthed a colt.
Black goo was still dripping from her eyes, her nose, her mouth and her senses were mixed up to the point that they were hard for even her normally so understanding mind to keep up with. Still, seeing this, her deeply engraved morals were there, prominent in her being; glowing in her insides. The diviner managed to go over there; walked closer and bounded her lips to her will so that she could ask: “Do you need —something?” The typical outlandish tunes of her voice were in a soft, hushed and fading whisper. Having forgotten her strange situation, she showed her care for the mare who had just birthed a child as black goo continued to drip from her nose and lips, stained her cheeks with the lines of dark tears. She watched the renewal of Birdsong come to live with blackened eyes, unaware of any other that was potentially there. Mother and child, just like her brain already was, the sight made her fuzzy in her belly now, too.
Talking
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[O] second chances, new beginnings [birth]
