She remembered how, just a few days ago, she had looked at that vague but so vivid horizon; there where the reflection began… or ended, which one was it, really? She remembered how the sky had let its grace fall on the surface of the mirror that the liquid had created; was. She remembered how the light was bright in the sweet embrace of the crystal skin of water.
So much brightness, such warm entwinement.
Now, she could swear she felt the soil beneath the water shake. Swore that, the surface where there was no horse, it quivered like a hunted rabbit. And where they were... —where they (I) ran through, they splashed up the shattered pieces of broken mirror. Broken surface, lost reflections. Somehow that realization was imitating a bunch of needles, pinching her heart, stung. But she was like them. Running through that flickering bulb of brightness; mind tripping, falling over. What is it that I should do? What was it where her purpose lay in this conflict? Because Chaos was here, Disarray was not lost in brightness.
And she thought of that while running in a slow motion picture, while trailed by a thin, evaporating tail of mist. What; Shall I punch the crocodile with a wet, transparent whisp? Shall I give him a nice refreshing bath of dew? Her power was so protective. Her, others (she remembered saving Ërthe and even the Goddess of the Moon), but why can I not save my own (God)? What did she have for power, she questioned, besides her faith that was her sword and shield. What was there in this moment of reality that could ease her wanting mind, for somehow she realized she needed to feel it. Feel the blow against that shield, feel her muscles ache as she swung that heavy, heavy sword. After all, she was from the Throat and, for whatever the chatting birds talked, they were all warriors there.
In that flickering lightbulb-moment, her pace had shortened, became aware of the black drool splashing her breast with the dark substance; that sickness that made her see nothing and perhaps feel everything. Thus; she felt the God —monster, before her —somewhere. She ran at it, because she couldn’t just be left behind. She ran towards it all, wings (like that time that she was fighting Ophelia in that sandy arena) pulled into fists aiming forwards.
With that sword before her blinded, blackened eyes and the pressure of those around her tickling on her skin like temperamental bugs, she ran forward, attempting to use —first her wings, then her back-hooves —and then whatever else she could find within herself to tackle that one standing in the way, blocking the light, threatening her glorious faith. Once again a mirror will need to glue itself back together, but surely this will be the last time.
Summary: Maren attacks with first her boss-wings then her back hooves, following with basically everything else, or something (because lets be vague). She also is able to feel the croc. because of her GLL
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SWP :: You thought it was over? So did I. (Part II)
