Deserts were all about extremities. As different as it appeared to be from the Star Breather's home, this place could most certainly be deigned a desert. Apart from the general lack of sand (or anything really for that matter, apart from snow - so much snow - and ice) and, of course slandering heat (instead its abundance was in searing frigidity), this place really wasn't much different from Dragon's Throat. Both were harsh, both were - technically - deserts, both were barren and both were almost unfathomably vast.

Of course Cassiopeia wouldn't really know, herself. She was stuck behind metal bars, cold sinking down into the very marrow of her bones. That's what separated the two deserts - so alike and yet so very different: cold. It was so unbearably cold, especially for a creature so accustomed and inured to heat.

The dove was trapped like a caged bird, her wing broken and her voice silent. She was like a bird who had lost her song, her legs folded haphazardly beneath her and the crippled flight appendage spread out beside her, the feathers in desperate need of preening. Her mane, tangled and somewhat unkempt, cascaded down in chaotic, yet indelibly elegant waves over pale turquoise eyes that were a tad more gray than usual. It was substantially warmer in the cave (her makeshift prison) than it was in the open, sheltered from the wicked lash of the wind but it was far from cozy, far from warm. She had been like that for hours, liquid occasionally dripping from her nose from the chill of winter. Her bones had become vaguely visible, her wings weak, the tone of her muscle deteriorated from lack of exercise.

She wondered what her daughters were doing. She wondered if her absence had gone completely unnoticed in her homeland. Had they replaced her as Oracle? Perhaps. Honestly, she hoped they did. Rowan had shown significant promise; maybe she would be the one to take her place. Cassiopeia believed she mentored the filly well and admittedly missed seeing her. How was Cirrus faring? Did the woe of her father's passing still stone her heart as relentlessly as before? She felt the all too familiar tug of anguish leaden her chest as Azzuen crossed her mind. Almost instantly sorrow and longing overcome her. She missed him immeasurably. She couldn't hold back the emotion. Tears began to stream down her dark face.

She was alone with her thoughts, and she supposed that was better than the company the Basin had to offer. Mauja wasn't so bad, but he was still one of them. She knew to be wary. These were hateful characters, ones the deity of the Sun had warned her of. Behind that amicable exterior lied something hostile. "Honest darkness," she recalled being told. She believed it now more than ever.

The stillness of the Basin was fairly unsettling as the matron made her way across the snowy dips of the flat plains. She held no vices towards her homestead, though the cold and the quiet were often disconcerting. She wondered what part of the phrase “home sweet home” actually applied to the winter wasteland in which she now lived. Maybe there was nothing but the familiar hints of hatred that held them all together, or maybe she was the only one displeased with her circumstances. Whatever the case, she remained… Whether it was because she felt obliged or because she was finally acclimated to the frigid nights she spent in unrest was to be debated, but here she was still trudging through her distaste.

It was true, she felt lost on this path of life but what else could she do? She was tempted to ignore the problem altogether but then thought better of it. She pondered the strange affections she held for Murdock and the way that his eyes lit up when they fixed themselves on her own. Or maybe she was just a fool; maybe she> was the one who brightened at the sight of the Explorer. Everything was new when she was with him and while it made her feel weak, it also made her feel alive.

When Chernobyl stumbled upon the makeshift prison, she couldn’t help from peering inside; curiosity always seemed to get the best of her and for once… she was glad it had. Inside, the darkness seemed to fall over them both as Chernobyl stepped into the shadows. Her sides heaved with hesitation and though her heels clicked on the stony floor, she was completely and utterly silent. As her dark eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the hollow, she sighed. However, it wasn’t so much out of relief as much as shock. It was a soft rasping that carried through the crevice in which the star-dusted mare lay imprisoned. Chernobyl didn’t know her name or where she had come from, but suddenly her heart was wrenching from her chest.

She didn’t want to believe that Murdock had allowed her to feel… but there was something inside her heart that made her want to reach out and comfort the broken captive. She was unkempt and yet still wildly beautiful, so clearly out of place hidden away in the shadows of the Basin. Chernobyl had never seen such a creature for she looked to be made of magic and everything that the matron wished herself to be. But alas, as she gazed at the Pegasus she was suddenly aware of their vast differences. Tears wet the starry maiden’s cheek and it surprised Chernobyl to see the darkened trails of her pain. She had never seen sadness, but now that she had, she was certain that she would never forget it.

While the matron was unaware of Cassiopeia’s being the Throat’s oracle, she was vaguely aware of the power she possessed. For a moment she imagined what she must have looked like in all her freedom and it inspired the dark matron to move closer. She watched as the tears fell one by one before she was finally strong enough to find her voice in spite of the wall that separated them not only by species but in heart as well. “Steal yourself my dear… there are creatures far worse than I in this dark place and I would not have them thrive off of your weakness.” Her voice was a bear whisper as she peered between the metal bars that held her twilight sister and though it was a mysterious tie that led her to remain, something about her emotions made her cringe. She feared what would become of the other and what lay in her future, but as she tried to avoid the obvious truth, she decided that she could not witness another moment of the maiden’s suffering.

Quietly, Chernobyl turned back to the mouth of the hollow and wandered into the cold. At first she had planned to depart and never return but her heart sang out to the starry girl. She paused as if debating the decision even though she already knew she would return. However, this time she planned to revisit her with intent.

Lifting a jagged heel from the frozen ground below, she struck the snow-covered grasses beneath until they finally revealed themselves. When she had finished the task efficiently, she dipped her face to the brittle victual and snatched at the long threads of browned nourishment and then carried it back along the path from whence she came. As she clattered once more into the darkness of the hollow she pushed her narrow face against the cold bars of the dungeon and dropped the grasses within. After doing so, she turned away from the Pegasus in order to study the impending night. Dusk had fallen over them in deep purples and oranges and while it was distracting for a time, Chernobyl knew that she would have to face her actions for what they were.

She was not as careless as she had formerly thought. No, she could feel… even if she’d never wanted to.

Arielle moves, her breathes intense, mental pain stricken her to the floor of a frosty earth. Muzzle deeply buried within the snow as she frolics inside her dreams.
They stand alone. Cold, battered, broken. Watching from the cliff side a whole new war... Bones clash and shrill cries pierce the air. Arielles mother a short distance away, standing beside the beloved leader of the small clan, observing a victorious win while a whole other band limps away; beaten. Those blue eyes moving from the battlefield to her tiny foal lying in the grass, tightened in sleep. Troubled not but the loud cries below. Arielle was the foal. A sickly foal. They all believed she wouldn't make it past a few months but the strong mare proved them wrong. Growing into a muscular gal. Running alongside to the great black friesian, the rest in a huddle behind them, not far. Moments before the attack. The sound of wings above in the air toppling ontop of the black. Lashing hooves slamming into her neck. Then came the ground bound normal equids... forming a circle around the tiny band. Removing the life from each soul, taking one by one and leaving only a few left. Scattering in motions. Arielle running in fear. Hoping by chance the others would follow and make a getaway.
Legs pumping, nares stinging, blood trickling her hide.
The nightmare grows.
The cold grows.
Its dark. Distant. The trees turn shades of red, faces haunt the shadows and create traps.
It stops. Arielle awakens with a jolt. Lifting her head in a cloud of dusted snow and heated breaths.

Fear present within her steel eyes... carving a fresh path of burning hatred. Forever engraved by pain and hurt. The bay begins to lean backwards, flinging front feet to grab the earth and lead her to stand on all four. Motions less than graceful. Lights above beginning to paint the sky a beautiful hue of pinks and blues. Only the colors calm a racing heart, caged within Arielle's chest. Her eyes begin to dull with defeat and loss of hope. A muffled sigh left her mouth. Tainting the air with undeniable sadness.

She moved without grace, an uneven canter, settling not far from Chernobyl. Watching as the black mare grazed at the ground with sharp hooves. Placing her lips upon dead vegetation, only not to eat it but carry it between partly spread lips. Curiosity settled within Elle's veins as she set off at a slow paced trot. Black hooves slowing as they begin to clack inside the stoney cave. Eyes taking a moment to adjust to the extreme darkness. Theres a prison hidden in the back, a surprising fact as she moves slowly now. Knowing her presence is known clearly but the mare is silent. Taking in the state the pegasus streams tears, knowing just how it feels to be so weak. Though Arielle's patience for a pegasus is a tad worn thin and sadistic smile, with hurt in her eyes, is placed upon a conflicted face. "The scar will heal with time my dear but will never disappear." simple tones almost hissing in the wind. That was all she could offer truly.

The hollow clicking of hooves striking stone reverberates softly against the cave's arced walls. The Star Breather lifts her pale, tired eyes in response to the sound, turquoise irises glittering faintly in the little light which seeps into the cave's dark crevices. She oscillates her chiseled face to behold a hazy silhouette moving toward her. It floats in from the frosted plane beyond the mouth of her makeshift prison like a wraith, its body swallowed by darkness as it infiltrates the shadows, the only thing visible being the smooth outline of its physique.

The dove tries her best to wipe the tears from her eyes, rubbing her damp face on her knee as the other approaches. She assumes by the delicate deliberation with which the wraith moves that it is a mare who grows near. Its hoof-beats are slow, calm and light, much different than what she assumes the hoof-beats of an aggravated stallion intent on tormenting her would sound like. Perhaps the stranger's scent would give it away as well, if the dame were able to smell. Fluid drips from her nose from the cold, and she wipes that away as well before once again turning her slender face toward the forthcoming mare. The rest of her body remains still. She dares not aggravate her wing. She fears it may be broken beyond repair and even the smallest of movement is painful.

The mare moves ever forward, gazing at the caged mistress silently, peering between the pillars of iron that separate them as if to examine an injured bird. Cassiopeia merely sighs, a plume of steam curling from her lips as she turns away, the remnants of her sorrow streaking down her soft cheeks. She assumes this one is no different from the others. By the horn which twists from her brow she can only speculate that she views Cassiopeia no different than the rest of her brethren: a freak. Steel yourself, my dear, she warns, and the sable matron percolates her slender ears, surprised by the sincerity of her voice. There are creatures far worse than I in this dark place and I would not have them thrive off of your weakness. She gazes at the mare for a moment, wet, disheveled lashes blinking softly over glazed eyes.

"And what would you do to stop them? There is not much else they can do to me," she avers, her voice like a breath of wind, matching Chernobyl's in pitch. They have taken her from her one asylum, the one place she truly belongs... the last place she can still feel his presence. She has not seen her daughters in weeks, and longing weighs heavy on her heart. She is forced to watch herself wither away, barred from the majesties of flight, a torturous thing for a child of the sky. They have taken her amulet, something that, in a way, represents her love for Azzuen. Her wing has been broken, and perhaps she will never again soar through the heavens. Her magic is the only thing that remains to comfort her, but even that is more frail than usual. The stardust which coats her mane and tail tuft glitters faintly, the magic weakened by her condition.

The Star Breather turns to face the mare once again, curious as to what has caused her silence, only to find she is gone. Cassiopeia does not anticipate her return, resigning herself once again to her solitude with little objection. Silence encroaches upon the shadowy domain, but it does not last for quite as long as expected. The mare returns, this time with a gift between her teeth. It has been quite a while since Cassiopeia has last tasted the tangy sweetness of fresh, dew-laden grass and although the yellowed tendrils placed at her hooves is hardly a parallel, her hunger is great. She lips the dried stalks generously, outstretching her thin neck to reach for the modest pile. It is hardly enough to nourish her body, and although not particularly palatable, she does not argue. It is a kind gesture.

She works the victuals between her teeth. The taste, although bland, causes a sharp pain in the back of her mouth as saliva seeks to moisten her tongue and throat. She swallows, finding herself greedy for more, hunger still raking at the pit of her stomach.

The dove watches the dark maiden inquisitively, vague wonderment aglitter in her eyes. She is not particularly beautiful, but there is a certain windswept-ness about her that is easy to admire. The rich sable of her coat combined with the darkness makes it difficult for the Night Dweller to fully observe her, but from what she has seen thus far, not limited to simply appearance, it is clear that she is different. "You are unlike the others," she muses as Chernobyl admires the vivid display of color emblazoned in the clouds by the setting sun.

Cassiopeia can only see a small parcel of the sky from her position. The rest is obscured by the beginning of the cave ceiling and the peaks of snow-crested cliffs in the distance. In the mornings, she can sometimes catch small glimpses of sunlight. In the waxing hours of dawn, slender fingers of its rich illumination reach out to caress her with their warm, soothing touch, weaving between the iron bars which hinder her from the outside world like sleek ribbons. It is refreshing, no matter how finite the experience may be, to feel the sun while tucked away in darkness. She misses the sky, the clouds, the comradery of the air during flight as it gently preens the feathers; but most of all, she misses the comforting warmth of the sun.

As she peers out at her small window to the sky, another finds its way into the cave. She makes her way steadily closer, coming up to stand at the side of the first mare. The scar will heal in time, my dear, but will never disappear. Her words betray the strange expression plastered upon her features; a smile, but it seems oddly hostile. This one is stained a rich shade of mahogany with flecks of crimson coating her features. She is tall – Cassiopeia assumes she is much taller than herself – though appears to be about the same size as the first mare.

She gazes up at the newcomer with an inscrutable expression. "I have suffered many scars..." Her words are like poetry, lilting cryptically from sooty lips. She speaks with a quiet resiliency. Indeed the astral dame has acquired many wounds throughout the years - some physical, and others internal like dark stains on the seraph's unspoilable heart - and this one will simply be another added to her trove. She sighs, a thin, livid plume of smoke whirring gently from her nostrils and mouth.

One scar remains to be sewn, one which stubbornly rents itself open time and time again, peeling off the scab just before it starts to heal. She doubts it will ever cease the cycle, for the gash is deep and oh, how it bleeds. Each time she thinks of this hole in her heart it grows just a little bit wider and she doubts that she will ever love again. The one to once occupy the gap has left, departed from this world. She swears she can hear his voice, echoing hauntingly within her head.

You are my other half, he says. I am incomplete without you.

She feels the prick of tears swell behind her eyes, but she squeezes them tightly, struggling to encumber the sheer intensity of the emotion. 'Azzuen,' she thinks. 'You are the half that makes me whole.' She yearns to hear his answer, though she knows fully well that it will never come.

[ ooc ; Long, rambly post. :P ]