There were screams. She was lost as she struggled to find her exact placement in the vibration covered forest. Things were slowly beginning to settle down, the world falling back into it's correct place once more and it was only then that she began to realize the substance was hardening like lava - turning into brittle rocks. It still burned at her flesh, but it was minuscule - the pain having dulled tremendously - but whether that was from her own mind attempting to block out the pain she no longer knew. That was when she finally began to take in the entirety of her surroundings. A mare had fallen. A mare had given up the hope to fight the burning of the tar and seemed to have sacrificed herself to this substance that was controlled by whatever was keeping such a barrier around the gates of Helovia. There is screaming for that mare. Screams of struggle, of pain, of torture, of sadness. Screams that can only be matched with the loss of someone so close that one could not truly understand unless they had lived through it.

Rasta swallows, feeling her dry throat becoming hoarse as she continues to kick out at the hardening lava-like substance that was attached to her legs and stomach like shackles. Someone else would have to help her rip the hardened portions off of her side once this was finished, but for now all she cared about was the ability to move again. So, she snapped her hooves out, putting more strength into the areas where previous cracks had been made until the substance shattered and fell like ash around her flints. A harsh cough, and she can hear the sound of the doe's voice. A thank you is whispered, and Rasta feels herself second guessing whether she has heard it correctly, or if she is simply imagining the doe speaking.

Burnt legs edge forward, her entire frame trembling and wincing in pain with each step, with each vibration that is sent through the scarred flesh from the second degree burns and the few, scattered, third degree burns that laced her stomach and forelegs. The doe continued to speak. Her voice was hoarse, much like Rasta's was bound to be if her words had come out when she had allowed her mouth to open to respond that no thanks was necessary. She wanted to know what it meant to love a child. She wanted the truth. She wanted it to be a mother and a child. Her miscarriages flashed through her skull. Her child who was with his father, learning his way in a world that was tortured. Her soul was missing, not only from her lost companion, but from the lack of her mate and her son.

Stopping beside the towering stag with the deep voice I listened to the other bulky mare speak and the stag offer their insight before my choked voice appeared. Broken, hoarse words emerged from my jaw after a few, sickly coughs. "There is no real meaning to love that can be explained simply through words. When you love someone you do not care about their faults. You do not care about their strengths. You can feel a connection to their soul, and when they are gone you feel as though part of you is missing. You would do anything for that one which dares to hold your heart and to try and protect it - as you do with their's. Love for your child is even stronger. I know what it feels like to have a child ripped from your grasp - either from death, miscarriages, or being taken a prisoner and not knowing if the rest of your family is alive. The love never dies. It holds true throughout time. It is an eternal fire burning within all of us, awaiting the spark so that it can thrive. Love for a child begins the second they are conceived and the grief from that love when you outlive them is something that rips you in two. Love... it's the only thing that ensures a child a good life. Its the one thing that, no matter what pain they might have to endure, they know they can fall back onto. The love will always be there, between a mother and a child - for if it's not a part of both of their souls is missing. And that part will never return. Love is so strong, it can break all the chains of hate." she pauses, coughing again as her body pleads for water to soak her burns in and to sooth her parched throat. But she adds on one more sentence. "Love is the only thing I have left to give to you - to your child..."