You're a dream. Like everything else.

Eira... Near the outskirts of Halyven, a section of which had been nominated for (Rixen and) Roscorro’s new herd, and towards the opposite direction taken to find The Portal, a low range of dunes gave way to a span of sandy flats and shimmering horizon, at least, for as far as Eira’s eye could see. She stood one rainy afternoon, upon the ridge of one golden hillock, gazing across the curious region with a heart yearning to explore. Seldom did her heart stir with courage enough to slip from the sanctuary of those she had come to trust: Roscorro, Vynter and Kiada particularly, yet on this occasion, burning intrigue felt stronger than her worry. Too thin, misshapen and tired to flee from danger, the shaggy blue filly understood well her vulnerabilities in The Rift. She stepped down after a good length of contemplation and found her clumsy stride quickening beyond control as the sand beneath gave way. All too soon Eria found herself colliding with the bottom, landing with knee-knuckles forward to cop the brunt; used to such falls though, she lifted and shook, dipping her lips only briefly to inspect for any damage. Sand. It was soft and forgiving, less so in this weather, but the hybrid had avoided cuts and bruises, so it seemed, thus was able to continue on without concern. A marvellous landscape opened around her, a pattern of delightfully glittering pools and a labyrinth of land woven between, and with inspired, wonder-filled eyes, she embarked along the nearest bridge, east. There was a strong brackish flavour to the air that she sucked, sour, though not altogether unpleasant and the rain, she thought, added a sweet note. Her oversized head (for a body that was starved), lifted suddenly and dark blue eyes widened as the blue she had been following began to take on shape. At first it appeared to be a forest, dark, with similar shades of green to the one down south, above the cliffs, but the nearer she walked, the better the mirage’s picture appeared to be: it was their beach, Ma and Pa’s, the one that she had Indra had raced the length of; the same ocean beyond who’s tides, Ma had told her, followed the call of the goddess, Moon. Eira was amazed, so much so that she quickly forgot the swath of darkness that had swallowed the home that she’d known. The small black and teal wings upon her pounding breast fluttered wildly, enlivened. With staggering steps, legs burning with excitement, she hastened innocently and unsuspectingly towards it, “Ma! Pa! Indy! It’s me! It’s Eira!”  "I am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, I belong to the earth and its winter."

- Pablo Neruda, Winter Garden
Open to any! 
Eira needs to coerce someone to kill something with her here. She is mute, though her inner voice could penetrate the mind of someone nearby.