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

The world was peaceful, calm and warm. She drifted lazily through soothing streams of glittering light, watching with contentment how amber clouds and pearly bubbles floated by. In this place she was safe, protected and soothed. No sadness existed here, nor did pain or worry trouble her. All she felt was a quiet curiosity as she gazed about; it was impossible to say where she was, but Erthë felt no fear. Everything was as it should be. She had all the time in the world, because time did not exist here. It was a moment between seconds, embedded in a ray of light and contained within the essence of water, of wind, of everything that was kind and loving and beautiful.

Yet, even as she relaxed into the peace that came with acceptance, other, less pleasant sensations began to make themselves noticed. Pain, distant yet sharp and grinding, kept prodding her senses. She tried to turn away from it, didn't want to acknowledge it; the memories that belonged to the sensation were chaotic and frightening, so she didn't want to remember. Sounds reached her too, but she flicked the ears, unwilling to listen. Someone was calling for her, said her name with such persistence and fear... and on a clammy, stifling hot breeze a scent began to scatter the clouds, the streams, the pretty amber light. Saddened and reluctant the filly cried in protest, objected and pleaded for the peace to stay, to keep cocooning her in sweet, merciful oblivion. But no. The lights faded and she plunged headlong into deep, smothering pits of darkness, swirling faster and faster, down, down, down...

Slowly, like a radio being turned up from mute, her senses came back to her. Sounds grew from indistinct mumbles into an explosion of sound; of thundering hooves, angry shouts and pained yells and a rumble and snap and crackle of magic fires sizzling through the air. The darkness behind her eyelids was alluring, wanted to drag her back down into unconsciousness; Erthë had to force them apart and found herself blinded by the glaring sunlight. Over her towered blurry shapes, shadowed silhouettes against a sky that was painfully blue, albeit somewhat stained by acrid black smoke and flying soot. It took her some time to register the faces, the voices, their love and concern; uncle Badger was there, uncharacteristically agitated, and others with him. Strangers, unfamiliar faces, but she was sure that if she turned her head and glanced sideways towards the din of battle she would see others she knew. Friends, family, bonds she didn't want to see severed.

A bundle of herbs lay before her nose and a persistent mare was telling her to eat. The scent was sharp in her nose, prickled and stung and made her sneeze.

And the sudden jerk of the head sent a spasm through the body.

Excruciating pain shot through the right foreleg, pain such as she had never felt before in her life. Erthë wanted to scream and writhe and drown herself in that place of light again, but the only sound that crossed her lips was a soft groan, a pitiful whimper that was completely insufficient and in no way could convey the full brunt of her torment.

Desperate for something, anything to stave off the pain she snapped at the herbs and forced herself to chew, to make her jaws grind and process the bitter mass even though her mouth was dry and the throat clogged with unshed tears. And her thoughts went to the shot she had fired, to the pretty bow that lay thrown aside on the ground, to the father and his sweet companion and the faces she had seen swirl by in a blur of color as she tumbled through the air.

Erthë thought of all of it, the battle and the Tigress and the kind-looking Earth God... and she couldn't bring herself to care about anything but the pain. It ate away everything that mattered until only agony remained, and a tiny, chafing prick of guilt over not being able to get up to keep fighting.

But she couldn't move, other than to shift her head slightly so that hazy, bleary eyes could follow the battle, half terrified and half envious of all those who could continue to be out there and make a difference.

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