The early morning light has just begun to stretch over the horizon when she finds herself making her way through the meadow. New grass has begun to coat the land, turning the monotonous hues of winter into the vibrant emerald of new life. The rising sun washes the land in glorious oranges and pinks, a lovely sight even to the most jaded of souls.

But she is not here to admire the views. Leisure has never been a strong suit of hers. When she arrives in the meadow, she is not here to see the way the dew sparkles in the early light, softened by the mist that still hangs low to the earth. No, she is here for business.

She is here for vengeance.

She is not prescient, but when she discovers her opportunity, she seizes it, no matter how long it takes. And though the woman she now seeks was only a vehicle of deliverance in the death of her son, she cannot let it pass unremarked.

It is not difficult to find her, especially given her particular abilities. Even without them, she would have found a way. Her coat is damp with mist and dew as she makes her way quite deliberately towards the young mare. Her icy blue gaze fixes upon her as she considers the rather unassuming figure with a dispassionate expression. A force necessary to hide the truth of the emotions that roil in her gut. “You are much less conspicuous than I was expecting,” she says by way of greeting as she settles next to her, keeping a wary distance between them.

i see your sins
and i want to set them free

She does not expect the younger woman to recognize her. How could she? They have never before met. Certainly her son looks nothing like her. No, she does not resemble the blue iridescence of Longclaw, or his strength and heft. She is unassuming, of average height, her frame lanky and slender. Attractive enough, with a coat of dusky pewter laced by white, but in no way beautiful. No bright colors to make her stand out above the rainbow of horses that call Beqanna home. And in that one small way more similar to the mare beside her than her brightly hued children.

She too, is often underestimated. She would never dare do such a thing to Ajatar. Indeed, she has seen the destruction the woman can bring. But it is not a thing she particularly wishes to dwell upon in this moment. Especially as she needs all her wits about her.

“You were friends with my son, Longclaw, were you not?” she continues, answering Ajatar’s question with a question of her own. One she already knows the answer to, but the woman before her hardly needs to know that.

For a moment, she wonders if her companion grieves too. Her eyes sharpen as she considers the other mare, her face a mask of marble. It would be so easy to blame her for his death. So easy to call it done here and say good enough. But she knows there is far more here than meets the eye. She would not be so foolish as to only scratch the surface. Too many have made that mistake with her.

Instead, she digs. Seeking. She is not yet certain what she will find, but she will recognize it when she sees it. Of that, she has no doubt.

i see your sins
and i want to set them free

The weight of grief is enormous. A heavy burden that never quite leaves one in peace. Heartfire has become far too familiar with its weight, though she has stubbornly refused to bend beneath it. Her own sorrow remains contained, her tears unshed beneath the iron control she has imposed upon herself. Instead, she has redirected her own sadness into anger and purpose. An endless fuel that burns through her. That had brought her to this meadow.

But the young woman’s face breaking beneath the heaviness of her words puts another chip in the steadfast armor Heartfire had wrapped about herself. To see that grief reflected in another soul is harder than she could have expected. Especially when reflected in the face of the weapon that had slain her child. It is easy, in that moment, to see that Ajatar is far more than a weapon. Her own mother uses her so easily as such, never once stopping to consider the soul beneath.

Heartfire, for all her indifferent demeanor and ruthless motivation, is not in fact heartless. If she could believe that Ajatar had acted on her own volition, it would have been far easier to hate her. But she had been used as poorly as her son had.

Despite her anger, despite the fact she should hate this woman, she cannot. Instead, she shifts closer. Gently, she reaches out, brushing her muzzle along the dark skin of her neck before drawing her close, offering comfort. She could not pretend indifference in that moment, no matter how much she might wish to.

She allows her her grief, remaining silent as she presses against her in surprisingly warm solidarity. Finally, after a lengthy silence, she murmurs softly, “I think you do yourself a disservice, taking the blame on yourself.”

i see your sins
and i want to set them free

It is clear in the way the young woman flinches from her touch that she is unused to such kindnesses. That she has never been offered a gentle touch, not even by her own mother. There is a sadness in it. In that lack. Though, in this world, it is a story too often repeated. A cancer that has embedded itself into the heart of Beqanna.

In a way, it too had played its hand in the death of her son.

But it is not poison she offers. No, it is healing. And sometimes, all healing needs is a little purpose. And that purpose is the only thing she intends to leave behind today. To give a little heart and courage back to a woman who had so long been denied it. (It’s easy to tell herself this. Easy to say this is not on entirely self-serving mission, though in truth it very much is.)

Ajatar’s confusion is palpable when she finally regains her control and withdraws, peering at Heartfire with a wrinkled brow. Heartfire’s blue eyes match hers steadily, the frankness in her gaze unsettling. “Strength is not gained overnight. Even children must practice before they can walk.” She pauses briefly, considering. “Or even before they can run.”

She stares steadily at her for a long moment, studying her still innocent features. Because whatever else she might have done, there is still far too much innocence stubbornly clinging to the scaled mare. “I am not the only one who knows this.” She pauses again, this time more weightily. “I think your lack of control and strength has been taken advantage of, and I think you have been poorly used.”

“But it does not have to be a curse if you do not wish it to be,” she finishes with meaning. If there is anyone who knows a thing or two about the dangerous ability of destructive power, it would be Heartfire.

i see your sins
and i want to set them free

As though her words have switched a flip inside the young woman’s skull, she sees understanding in her youthful features. A sudden recognition of the truth of her words. Whatever else Heartfire may be, she has always been unfailingly honest. She may omit certain truths, but she has never needed to utter an outright lie. In a world like Beqanna, lies are too easily discerned. So, she had learned to manipulate the truth to suit her whims just as she had learned to manipulate sight.

Her lips curve into the faintest of smiles as she watches Ajatar. Though the gesture lacks true warmth, there is an odd kind of encouragement there. An acknowledgement of her understanding, of her discovery about the truth of her life. And that recognition is the seed planted. Heartfire has grown familiar enough with the nature of emotion to know Ajatar would grasp at these words. Would find comfort in knowing she could wrest control of her own life if she so chose.

Her questions are to be expected however. Destruction is not a gift everyone can appreciate. She thinks Ajatar can learn that appreciation, but she would also need reason to do so. For a weighty moment, Heartfire merely considers her scaled companion, pale blue eyes inscrutable. Her gaze falters only briefly, to glance at the destruction the girl had wrought with her deadly gift. There is no fear there, however.

Heartfire knows she can be just as deadly if the need calls.

“It is a curse only if you believe it is a curse,” Heartfire finally answers, her voice soft, thoughtful. “Because by that token,” briefly the roan mare let’s loose her own control, eyes shifting to passively watch the flower break apart into dust. Into nothingness, leaving only a bare patch where it should have stood, “this too is nothing more than a curse.” Her lips tilt up then, a slightly more visible smile. “For me though, this has been my protection. My salvation. It’s true that it causes destruction, but it is also my freedom.”

i see your sins
and i want to set them free