Time Changes All

R I X E N Watcher was right. We did not know anything about the Rift. Even if I thought I knew anything at all, that could never be accounted upon. I had a strange feeling that among all of its other magical elements, this place was deceiving. Who knew whether or not what I perceived to be true was just an illusion, a twisted figment of my imagination. Sometimes, when I closed my eyes to sleep, I considered the possibility that the Rift was a dream, and that when I opened my eyes again, I’d be at home again in a place far from here. It wasn’t that I disliked the Rift. In fact, it was quite the opposite - the Rift was growing on me. I missed the world I came from, and all of its familiarities. Because familiar things - the creatures, the surroundings, my place in the world - beheld a certain sort of comfort. Perhaps a fear of the unknown also played a role in my inclinations. But every time the thought of wanting to return home crossed my mind, I remembered that there was nothing to go back to. Everything I had known, everything once held dear was destroyed, and that raised the question of whether my ‘home’ was even a home at all.   I was glad to hear that Watcher would consider my offer to come to our next meeting. Part of me had expected him to politely decline, and that made his response all the more surprising. He did not seem to be a social creature, but perhaps he could see the value in having a connection to a  group of horses who were willing to watch his back. Nevertheless, I accepted his answer without a second thought. "I do hope to see you there." Genuinely, I did. A warm smile spread across my features, reflecting my excitement even at the prospect of the blue-tattooed stallion coming. Its radiance was almost like a second invitation for him to join us in itself, with the knowledge that he would be accepted. Should Watcher decide to show up, he would certainly not be disappointed, even if we were an odd bunch.  His response to my own question was not verbal per se, for rather than speaking aloud, Watcher began to assemble a new machine. It rose from deep within the earth, each piece twisting and contorting in the air until each gear and tube and piece was all bound together. This magical process was not without sound, the clicking and whirring of the machine as Watcher breathed life into it with invisible hooves. It was a dragonfly, not a spider like the many crawling upon his back, and I watched in fascination as it rose off of the ground. The mechanical dragonfly flew toward me with utmost ease, moving as if it were living, stopping right before my nose. I did not flinch. Instead, my green eyes traced across the machine, examining it carefully as if it was possible to see how it worked with only my bare eyes. "Interesting." Was the only word that escaped me, brows furrowing thoughtfully. I had never seen something like this before, or like any of Watcher’s mechanic creatures. I’d never seen magic work in such a way to create beings so delicate and intricate. And they were not even alive. "They are curious little machines, behaving exactly as if they are alive. Having the ability to create must be a great honor. I would imagine your creations must be of great use to yourself and others." After all, what couldn’t these machines do? In watching this new machine and the others, I saw a world of limitless possibilities.  To my surprise, when Watcher spoke again, his voice came from the dragonfly before me. He could speak through it, and as he revealed, he could almost become the machine when he chose to do so. My gaze followed the dragonfly even after finished speaking. As it moved back to Watcher, the insect moved its wings up and down so sharply that it looked like they were under remote control, as if a tiny electrical current opened and shut those vivid, almost translucent blades. In a way, they were. With the crafting of these mechanical creatures in mind, I raised another question. By now I’d mentioned the idea to several horses, but my curiosity never grew old. "Ever since I first set hoof between these crumbling walls, my mind has been occupied with the question of repairing this place. A daunting task, of course, but… do you think it would be possible?" "Talk." they heard me singing and they told me to stop quit these pretentious things and just punch the clock

image credits || coding credits

@Ruwin 
Ack that's the worst, I totally understand. :((