09-02-2016, 12:37 PM
She is standing in the Valley, the night air is bathing her skin, and then - and then-
She knows this. She's felt it before. She might have even been standing right here when it happened last. She knows the way that the ground heaves, the way it splits and spits like some great beast of burden trying desperately to unseat its rider. She's been through this before, so many years ago when she was barely more than a filly, barely anything.
Back then, she had been nothing before the ground shook, and had become so much more.
But now, she feels it in reverse. She feels everything she's been, everything she's become, draining away from her. It bleeds out of her skin and leaves only cold, only nothing in its wake. It's been her constant companion for years, for lifetimes and now it's nothing. It starts at the tips of her hooves, and although she retains her youthful experience, she can feel the difference. And by the time it reaches her eyes, stealing the mutating, shifting colors that have always been there, she is breathless. She doesn't cry, perhaps she cannot cry, but she feels the loss powerfully.
And just as it begins, it's over. But not just for her – she's not an untutored child now, to think that this is only her. She knows it's all of them. And as she consults her new surroundings, she knows that things have shifted mightily, for all of them. The new place is beautiful, rolling out before her in a series of hills and streams. It is almost idyllic. And as she watches, she feels a strange sensation – everything that had been drained flowing back in, suddenly and unexpectedly. And now the reason for the idyllic setting becomes clear: this is the place where the "old Beqanna" still flows. This is the font of the magic, the heart of things once gained and once lost. Here in this place, her powers will still exist. But they can't live here, not anymore – she knows that as clearly as she knows her own name. And out in the world, out where they'll be living, her magic will be as gone as it was when the earth started to shift and heave.
The silence is deafening, and she takes a moment to wonder whether she'd be among the first to arrive here. But just then, a flash, a glimpse of dark bay catches her eye and twists her mouth into a smile. She'd been looking for him before this had happened – or really, she'd been waiting for him to look for her, and just making the process a little simpler by bringing herself to the Valley.
Really, she's nothing if not helpful.
And so she decides to make herself helpful once more, to approach him, to find him, and to see what he's making of the re-making that they've all experienced.
Y'know, that, and they may have a touch of unfinished business.
She approaches him and her appearance is not augmented by magic for the first time in more years than most horses have lived. She is still beautiful – oh, has she ever not been beautiful? – but now her eyes are brown, not their ever-shifting riot of shades. It's a beautiful hazel, laced through with gold and rich honey, but it's a common color nonetheless. And as she walks toward him, she feels the wind across the bare expanse of cheek where once Eight's diamonds had adorned her. Something like sadness, like loss flits across her heart, but she shoves it down. They have enough to deal with, all of them, and perhaps more than most. Especially the two of them, such consummate magicians. It will be a change to lose it, she knows, when they've shaped themselves and the world with their powers before. But there was a time long ago when she had her wits and nothing else, and surely she'll survive. Surely they'll survive.
Surely.
She does not touch him, although she stops close enough that she easily could. She exhales, standing next to him as he drinks, surveying the land more than she surveys him. At length, her gaze sweeps back down and she regards him. The smallest of smiles plays on her lips. "Hello, Eight."
She knows this. She's felt it before. She might have even been standing right here when it happened last. She knows the way that the ground heaves, the way it splits and spits like some great beast of burden trying desperately to unseat its rider. She's been through this before, so many years ago when she was barely more than a filly, barely anything.
Back then, she had been nothing before the ground shook, and had become so much more.
But now, she feels it in reverse. She feels everything she's been, everything she's become, draining away from her. It bleeds out of her skin and leaves only cold, only nothing in its wake. It's been her constant companion for years, for lifetimes and now it's nothing. It starts at the tips of her hooves, and although she retains her youthful experience, she can feel the difference. And by the time it reaches her eyes, stealing the mutating, shifting colors that have always been there, she is breathless. She doesn't cry, perhaps she cannot cry, but she feels the loss powerfully.
And just as it begins, it's over. But not just for her – she's not an untutored child now, to think that this is only her. She knows it's all of them. And as she consults her new surroundings, she knows that things have shifted mightily, for all of them. The new place is beautiful, rolling out before her in a series of hills and streams. It is almost idyllic. And as she watches, she feels a strange sensation – everything that had been drained flowing back in, suddenly and unexpectedly. And now the reason for the idyllic setting becomes clear: this is the place where the "old Beqanna" still flows. This is the font of the magic, the heart of things once gained and once lost. Here in this place, her powers will still exist. But they can't live here, not anymore – she knows that as clearly as she knows her own name. And out in the world, out where they'll be living, her magic will be as gone as it was when the earth started to shift and heave.
The silence is deafening, and she takes a moment to wonder whether she'd be among the first to arrive here. But just then, a flash, a glimpse of dark bay catches her eye and twists her mouth into a smile. She'd been looking for him before this had happened – or really, she'd been waiting for him to look for her, and just making the process a little simpler by bringing herself to the Valley.
Really, she's nothing if not helpful.
And so she decides to make herself helpful once more, to approach him, to find him, and to see what he's making of the re-making that they've all experienced.
Y'know, that, and they may have a touch of unfinished business.
She approaches him and her appearance is not augmented by magic for the first time in more years than most horses have lived. She is still beautiful – oh, has she ever not been beautiful? – but now her eyes are brown, not their ever-shifting riot of shades. It's a beautiful hazel, laced through with gold and rich honey, but it's a common color nonetheless. And as she walks toward him, she feels the wind across the bare expanse of cheek where once Eight's diamonds had adorned her. Something like sadness, like loss flits across her heart, but she shoves it down. They have enough to deal with, all of them, and perhaps more than most. Especially the two of them, such consummate magicians. It will be a change to lose it, she knows, when they've shaped themselves and the world with their powers before. But there was a time long ago when she had her wits and nothing else, and surely she'll survive. Surely they'll survive.
Surely.
She does not touch him, although she stops close enough that she easily could. She exhales, standing next to him as he drinks, surveying the land more than she surveys him. At length, her gaze sweeps back down and she regards him. The smallest of smiles plays on her lips. "Hello, Eight."