11-09-2024, 12:26 PM
When the flowers bloom throughout the year, it is hard for Ruhr to be sure of the season. The air that slips between his feathers has a chill to it, and the rippling waters in front of him are thick with fog. Probably winter then, or maybe late fall.
He takes one step forward, submerging one stockinged hoof into the still-warm water.
Nothing happens.
He takes another few steps forward, until all four feet are in the water. He can feel the faint current of it pushing against him toward the shore, the last push of the tumbling waterfall he cannot see through the pre-dawn light and the thick fog, but whose sounds drowns out the rest of the world around him.
Nothing continues to happen.
Ruhr looks up, trying to find the Moon overhead, but he can see nothing.
He sighs, and considers climbing back out of the water.
This was supposed to be a magical waterfall, one that healed any wound. And yet as he stands in the shallow water, the ever-present ache in his foreleg grows no quieter. Is there something else he is supposed to do, he wonders, some enchantment he should speak aloud? Ruhr knows little of the entity’s history, of the magic that infuses these waters. He knows only that it is strange, that it is something not of the Moon or Her magics.
But would it still work, he wonders, and the sunset-colored stallion takes another hesitant step deeper.
He takes one step forward, submerging one stockinged hoof into the still-warm water.
Nothing happens.
He takes another few steps forward, until all four feet are in the water. He can feel the faint current of it pushing against him toward the shore, the last push of the tumbling waterfall he cannot see through the pre-dawn light and the thick fog, but whose sounds drowns out the rest of the world around him.
Nothing continues to happen.
Ruhr looks up, trying to find the Moon overhead, but he can see nothing.
He sighs, and considers climbing back out of the water.
This was supposed to be a magical waterfall, one that healed any wound. And yet as he stands in the shallow water, the ever-present ache in his foreleg grows no quieter. Is there something else he is supposed to do, he wonders, some enchantment he should speak aloud? Ruhr knows little of the entity’s history, of the magic that infuses these waters. He knows only that it is strange, that it is something not of the Moon or Her magics.
But would it still work, he wonders, and the sunset-colored stallion takes another hesitant step deeper.