WELL, JESUS CHRIST, I'M NOT SCARED TO DIE
It isn't long before she is approached and although she can sense them due to her magic and years of practice her reaction is all but lazy. She turns to the sound of the first mare, tunnel vision is such a hassle - it seems as though she can only see directly in front of her.
This is what it finally feels like to grow old...or perhaps just weary.
She has so many children, grandchildren, great-great-great-enough-until-your-fingers-are-tired-of-spelling-great grandchildren but she can't remember many, Myrine, Oliphander, Thaddius...what others? Should she know her or is her bewilderment appropriately placed. The first mare was bay with some dappling maybe she was related to Piety or the other children she and Texas had but didn't raise well. She's worked herself up thinking so much that she's like a revolver with a broken hammer, fuck with it enough and it will quit working all together, jam or misfire.
Prague could be described like this in several points in her long life.
"Have I? What way should I go? Where is it I belong?" she says to the mare, a little glassy eyed then some part of reality comes in like a wrecking ball, without a raw chicken ass Miley Cyrus. She stares to the younger mare, just near remembering her own name when another approaches...one who reassures her that the letters p r a g u e are not random and are what she goes by. "Yes. Prague. That's me," choppy, dry and hoarse, "Rhy. Your name sounds familiar. Am I lost?"
Such a weighted question for someone else to answer without knowing for themselves all the paths someone else has taken, wants to take and some that they never want to take again. Is there a nursing home in the Jungle?
I'M A LITTLE BIT SCARED OF WHAT COMES AFTER