The echoes of the battle with the great, fiery lizard still stung her limbs, and as she trekked the pains worsened in her joints, until she was gasping and rasping for breath, the air rough in her lungs. Above, Otienu glided easily, unbothered by the deep ache of muscle that Hespera was affected by; his wings were a soft beat, a sweet sigh in the cool, still air.

Every once and a while, the silver griffon would glance down at her, his bi-colored eyes worried for her health, even when Hespera shook off his anxiety firmly. It was just the deep burn of muscle from over-exertion- eventually, it would fade, she was certain of it. Yet she had never felt it before, and it stung her once again she was exposed to the whims of being a mortal. Never had Hespera realized how many more difficulties they faced, encumbered by their bodies. Sometimes, you just couldn’t understand something until you tried it yourself.

The clouds began to weep. Sky obliterated by dark silver clouds, the moon and stars disappeared in thick gray and black, sending the earth into deepest of shadows. Immediately the black unicorn halted, the rain glistening on her coat, mouth dry, eyes straining to see in the darkness. No such luck. Nothing leapt out to her from the unerring gloom. From above, her companion gave a scream of alarm, furling his wings and coming down to earth, talons scratching on the stone, wings hastily shutting to his half-furred, half-feather flanks. His sparkling eyes, both amber with a slice of blue, swiftly found a safe path on the rain-slick rocks. It was only Otienu’s guidance kept her safe on the perilous rock path back to where Hespera resided, for feeling closer to the strange gods.

Up and up they went together, ill at ease. Despite the turning of seasons, Birdsong was still frigid, and the rain was beginning to fall heavier, turning into sheets of freezing sleet. Water and ice accumulated on Hespera’s coat, sparkling in the dim light, freezing in drips running off her spine and broad back. Her bonded hastily took shelter beneath her scruffy belly, feathers fluffed up to keep out the cold.

Progress slowed to an ant’s crawl, but nonetheless the two made it up to the shrines, where they took shelter in the leeside of tumbled rocks, probably dislodged by one of the many times the gods had materialized when called for. It was a miserable night, one of many spent alone but for her heart of hearts, and together they flipped through memories, as they oft did. Today, Hespera fed Otienu with the memories of a time long past, in her earliest years, when she spent her time alongside the great marble statue Daermaethor, with his noble heart and deep, gravel voice, his unfailing morals and the weighted manner he spoke with, as if each word, if said wrongly, could be put against him like a knife or sword, come to stab him.

Otienu rubbed his small beak against her foreleg, a delicate comfort, before curling up for a story. When the nights long and ne’er ending, they slept when they felt exhaustion and woke when they felt hunger in their empty bellies.

She communicates in a series of images with her love, images not so easy to comprehend. Marble lips moving, stone eyes faded and far away from here. Sun rippling over the horizon, bathing all in golden light. The deepness of his voice, the rumble of thunder, the crunch of gravel. More images, coming quicker, lightning swift, melting together into an animation of the story that came from her faux father’s mouth. A story of a little dark mare, a mare named Sansa, who lived in the north and fell in love with a strapping boy, a bay of the name Morpheus. How they danced together! Their love was eternal, forever and always, until the nations marched to war. They were pitted against each other, these two.

Sansa killed him without remorse for her family, slaughtered his form even as tears ran down her cheeks. There was sadness in her heart, but not regret. He had hesitated, afraid of hurting his beloved. Not Sansa the Great.

Family before all else.

Eventually, the cold and relentless rain eased off, leaving the world wet and colder than before. With a nudge of her hoof to Otienu, wakening him from his deep sleep, she slipped out of the poor shelter, towards the shrines. She didn’t know how to pray. Not in this land, where she was not a god. Yet she felt it necessary to offer a few words to the gods of this new country, a thanks that she was well and they had not harmed Otienu. Of course… they had stripped her of Yseulte, the lavender maiden. She has gone, Yseulte. Hespera knew not where the shieldsister walked, and for that she was bitter.

“Gods of Helovia,” she began, her voice cracking. “T-thank you. And curse you. I think. This world is new to me, and I don’t know how you stole my strength from me. I was a god. I am a god, just of a land far from here. You stole that part of my identity, and I would beg of you to give it back. I hate this body… I wish to be able to have my storms, to be able to disappear and appear as I will. But you have taught me other things. Brought my conceited head down to earth a little more, I think. Thank you for that, I suppose.”

Her voice trailed off.

What else was she supposed to say?