The blind leading the blind

…it’s because there’s no beauty without pain. Vroskar crinkles his brow. While the he-mare is not wrong (from what he has learned in his life, all beautiful things do require some sort of pain) and while the metaphor is well-suiting to his point, Vroskar never assumed moths had any appreciation for beauty. He was not so much concerned with beauty as survival. "I doubt the moth cares much how pretty the flame is," comes his aloof retort with no elaboration to follow. Vroskar shuffles his hooves uncomfortably. He is no longer dampened by rainwater, but sweat. It beads on his forehead, on his breast, in all the crevices of his body. His fur clumps together in stiff, wiry masses and it will be no wonder if he comes down with a terrible case of rain rot. Blood hammers at his temples and throbs behind his eyes. He clenches his teeth so the muscles play like piano keys in his cheeks and he wonders not for the last time if this is some long and elaborate psychedelic dream... Any questions? his company asks once again, this time much less patient. Anxiety builds a tight knot in his chest. He imagines himself walking out into the wastes and never finding the other side, stranded in a fathomless expanse of tar and hellfire and heat enough to scorch even a creature of fire such as himself - except... his fire had been put out. A chill rakes his spine and sends tremors through each of his limbs. Nervously he glances at his company. Without thinking he follows the white one's eyes to where they gaze, back the way they had come. He squints his ruby eyes, making out tall shapes and smudges of green poking through the haze of storm clouds. He feels himself tugged in that direction - toward something more familiar. "What's over that way?" VROSKAR

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@Valkyrie