You're a dream. Like everything else.

Rain, Mortimer had decided, was a marvellous thing. It blurred most things in front of him, so he didn’t have to think about the next lonely horizon, the noise was a nice change from Mr Sobbing Sunshine that followed him, and it offered him a quick bath without him having to go to the trouble of swimming. The droplets smattered against him, plastering his forelock to his face and turning his coat a darker colour than its usual startling red and gold. He’d been travelling for some time now, not really caring where he went, living a simple nomadic life; eating, sleeping and moving on. At first, he found himself a little lost in the tedious routines of day to day living, having finally shaken off the attention of his grandfather, Mortimer had been left predominantly on his own. Not entirely, of course, he still had Sunny for company and despite the fact he didn’t talk back, Mortimer had developed a habit of having a one-way conversation with the moving figurine. At least it felt like someone might be listening. By now, Morty was used to his routine and had quite readily accepted that he might well be destined to live his life by himself. Until now that is. A familiar beach spread out before him, shimmering where the light hit it, which wasn’t that often in this weather, but Mortimer had a creepy feeling that he’d seen this place before. He might not know the whole story of what happened in the place he had been born, or what had caused the furore that had taken his father’s life, but Mortimer had noticed the Rift had some similarities. Now and then he would look at something and a tingling feeling of déjà vu would slither up his body and quickly he’d move on. His Grandfather probably knew more, but Mortimer had no intention of running into d’Artagnan anytime soon.  It’s me! Mortimer slammed to a halt. “Was that you?”, he asked Sunny, who burst out crying in reply.  “Obviously not”, Mortimer muttered. It’s Eira! “Who?” Morty swung his head, eyes a little wild as the rain splattered against him. Nothing… Did he imagine it? Eira? Who was that? Was he going mad? A frown shadowed his face as he tentatively began walking again—only to catch movement up ahead.  A filly, small and skinny, too skinny, her legs seemed to struggle beneath her body along with a head that looked quite out of proportion with the rest of her pale blue self. She had wings too, although they looked rather moth eaten, but still they fluttered lively around her. A flash of sympathy flickered across Mortimer’s burnt red face to join the initial confusion—was she the one who said something? Although it wasn’t like it was said… aloud. Or was it?  The filly hobbled across the beach, excitement brimming in her gaze though at what Mortimer couldn’t fathom for there was nothing but sand and water for miles. She was so wafer thin and delicate that autumn’s son half wondered if he was hallucinating her along with the voice. Only one way to find out. He approached tentatively, followed by the sobbing Sun God, cloven hooves sinking into the wet sand as he picked his way through the fluorescent waterscape. “Are you… uhm… Eira?” it felt weird, talking to someone else, after so many days and weeks and months of not seeing anyone. She might not even be real. Tomorrow we may come this way, and take the hidden paths that run Toward the Moon or to the Sun.

Mortimer the Coerce-able at your service