Aswane feels hope settle in her eyes. It is a warm, homely settlement for the wandering child. It is not that she is lost in the shadows of the mighty trees, but she is forgotten in their stillness. Her hooves pierce the ground quietly, sinking into the ancient carpet of decayed leaves. She feels like a sleuth in the tall shadows, veiled beneath the slumbering guard of the magical authoritarians. They watch her between closed eyes, dancing among the wide trunks, pale tail flicking gingerly to swat the ancient bark. Her green eye adjusts to the darkness, pupil growing wider than ever. She is hardly afraid in the cool comfort. Aswane’s one good eye watches ravens rattle the branches above every once in a while, their own black eyes watching as if she’s a meal for a larger, more dominant predator. However, the filly doesn’t notice the dangers of nature; she accepts them in her spiritual chakras and walks on, deeper and deeper into the grove. Her heart pulsates with the resonating growth of unseen life around her. She can feel the forest spirits hum through her cleft hooves.

She is honey for a bear here. Alone and vulnerable in the depths of formidable shade. The filly walks on legs like matchsticks that could dexterously breach to the jaws of a wolf or other monster. No one could guess how many are watching, eyes foul, curdled blood rims in the bushes, waiting to steal the flesh from her chest. But the filly continues to walk through the shadows of mere death, fearless by such ignorance.

The tunnel of gorse gives way for her, and little blotches of weak sun stretch down to the leafy carpet. A bird caws in the distance, and her one good green eye flickers under a blinking eyelid. She draws back as her sight falls on to the pale, swan-like figure of Israfel. Aswane immediately gasps, and her blood freezes, both eyes, blind and healthy stare wide at the winged filly. She was an aspiration, a pallid figurine, so perfect, nearly glowing with youthful beauty and divine allure. The flowerchild nears, footfalls timid for once among the quiet woods. The pale filly ahead is boisterous, her own splashes echoing through the dark wood. Aswane nears her, coming beside her holding unknown grace in her step.

She stops where the ruby water gives way to gem, much like an ocean would to sand. Her star-marked head gleams at the ambrosial child, smiling behind a twig tangled puff of forelock. " Hello, " she says shyly, dipping her own thirsty muzzle to the dazzling surface. Aswane watches the filly, her attention absorbed in the fragile gaiety of the pool's red ruby. " That stone you have is sure beautiful. Only a god could create something of such charm. "