luminous beings we are [any]

[Viszla]

Myrna suffocate the fire  i started-------------------- right when it kindles Myrna runs until her legs give out, and when she cannot take a single step ahead she grows a pair of wings and takes to the sky. Weary, she does little more than skim above the earth, and her pale legs occasionally clip against the branches of the budding spring canopies. Her wings begin to ache, and each beat is accompanied by a burning sensation that stretches far beyond her wings. He is soaring over a trio of lakes, and ahead of her is a broad bay. The burning continues to spread as she crosses the waves. Myrna knows what that feeling means, knows that it means her shifting will fail her before her wings do. The sand that she lands on cushions her jostled arrival, and she stumbles for a moment on legs that have gone partially numb from her long flight. The feathered wings at her sides disappear, as do the tattered remnants of the flowers she’d worn through the portal. Her golden head hangs low, and her view of the place she has landed is obscured by the white blonde curtain of her mane. Green hills, broad and rolling, stretch out beyond the willows that stretch toward the south. The setting sun appears from behind a shield of clouds as she shakes her hair away from her face, bathing the flower-filled fields with warm light. A gust of wind, carrying just enough red pollen to add peaceful sleepiness to her exhaustion, brings with it also the scent of spring and the promise of new growth even as the daylight fades. The perfection of the scene feels like a sign. Closing her eyes, Myrna breathes in deeply. She is not sure what this place is, or how long it might remain in the frequently-changing Beqanna that she has come to expect. She knows only that it feels right, somewhere deep inside her. This is where she belongs. As she opens her eyes, the sound of a faint voice comes from just past the trees. Myrna’s blue eyes narrow, but she cannot see anyone. She takes one slow step forward, and then another. Each stride is painful, but the palomino mare arrives in the Gates. Ahead of her is a pegasus, the horse she expects had called out. “Was that you?” She says when she’s near enough to be heard. “Calling out earlier, I mean?”