Nightmares and violent shapes
the state of dreaming
has left me numb

The world hurts. His eyes weep tears in a pitiful fashion as his vision slowly fades away, his magic painting him constant pictures of nothing. Each shrill cry of it is blown out into the vast emptiness and bring back the same old thing, his legs moving at full speed when his voice is starting to burn out, accepting that leaving without Hobgoblin was a bad idea. He’d left the Rougarou behind some ways back. Watching him eat and kill became a boring, repetitive thing, and the boy no longer wanted to watch things die. It wasn’t that he was upset by death, by all means he couldn’t care if something died or not, watching his mother work on things and learning rather early on that all things die, prematurely or past their time, but it was the constant sight of seeing Hobgoblin do the same things that made him lose interest.
Hunting wasn’t exactly his forte, nor was eating dead things.
But now in a world that he can’t tell is dark or light, moon eyes closed so tightly shut that he feels they’ll never open up again. What tears that were on his face have now dried, leaving behind thin marks of messy hair against his cheeks.
There isn’t anything worse than this.
He wants his mom, he wants Hobgoblin, even Amara, of all the people in the world, but the world out here feels so vast, so dead and lifeless when he releases noises for his sight, only to receive nothing. His young chest is heaving. Air seems to bolt from his lungs as the feeling of a panic attack slowly etches it’s way into his body.
I shouldn’t have left Ma.
“MA!!!””
The silence is getting worse, desperately trying to open his eyes now, feeling sunlight try to creep back into his eyes, the tears returning as if they’re always meant to be there. He wants the shade, he wants the night, he wants anything other than this god forsaken place.
There is, in the mess of lights and blurs that his eyes bring him, something out there. It’s too far to make out completely, but there’s the slightest hints of movement, and without knowledge that mirages exist, he releases out an attempted cacophony, watching as a figure does build out of it.
It strikes a small hint of hope in him, making a series of clicks now, listening in as his brain and ears work together to build the blurred figure into another foal. A foal who might be able to see in this cursed hell.
“H-h-hey!” He checks for any sort of acknowledgement that he can make out, the twisting of ears, a turn of a head, maybe them walking towards him.
Small, cloven hooves move along the ground with slowly increasing space, continuously searching for their attention. His companion in the wasteland seems caught up in other things that aren’t as important. Ripples bounce up in the images produced, dancing as the colt’s hoof brings on the effects.
“What are you doing?”


"Talk."

zhu