"And now I wish to God that The earth would turn cold
And my heart would forget it's made of glass"

The figure came closer. It was distracting enough that her intense focus on the shimmering black dot on the horizon faded slightly. As a result, she only became more aware of her physical ailments. Bruises, aches, sores, the same accursed black pus that kept rattling in her lungs and clogging the airways. Shifting her weight the girl made sure not to place any burdens on the right leg; it had been weak and unresponsive ever since the Crocodile god had thrown her to the ground. It didn't hurt much anymore, but the joint just above the cloves was oddly weak, as though it didn't resist bending anymore. The resulting limp was not only irritating, it hindered her movements too; somehow she hoped it would mend on its own in time, but so far that didn't seem to be the case.

Watching the flickering, shimmering figure approach from the corner of her eye, the girl adjusted the bow beneath her wing. Not even she could say why she insisted on carrying it around. It was a vile thing, made from the bones of the thing that killed her mother. The God that had created it had thrown it at Shadow's feet without sparing a second glance at the injured, dying mare, even though it was his mistakes that caused the whole incident. It was not a show of affection towards that flaming lord that made her carry this gift.

No, it probably didn't even have any deeper meaning. Mother had said to take it, so Erthë took it, and she would not let go of it. Without having a use for it or even knowing how to make it work she lugged it around, tucked beneath a wing, waiting for... something. A reason to try it out, maybe, or a chance to get rid of it without feeling any guilt.

Ah, it was hot. Her mouth felt dry, the longing for water and shelter was growing harder to resist. But her mother lay out there too, alone beneath the burning sun. If she couldn't endure this, how could she ever call herself the daughter of Shadow again?

The figure had come close enough to make out now. It was a horse, a brindled colt with wings the color of the sun, and he looked thoroughly lost. She tried to ignore him, but he made it very hard to do by suddenly speaking. Questions... why was it that she couldn't help but answer them, once they were posed?

"I do."

She eyed him for a moment, then went back to staring at the spot on the horizon. The black figure had been joined by other, smaller shapes now. They skipped and flapped around the bigger silhouette, and with a jolt of fear and revulsion Erthë realized what they might be. Vultures.

"No!" she hissed, pain and grief turning in a flash into blazing, white-hot rage.

"And all the pretty tulips would disappear
And never disturb me again"