Don't Let Me Down

WAKER

You sort of swore off going to the Portal for a while; it represents a wound too raw. It is a dark stain on the land, a strange, swirling presence, full of shadows and false light, and whenever you've flown close by, your eye has been drawn to it. What if.. your heart has asked your mind, but you've already tried.

There is no going back.

You've traveled to the shadowy edges of the land, but they won't let you through. You've run through the Portal, but no cosmic force seizes your soul and throws you back where you came from. You've screamed and cursed and begged and cried, but nothing has taken pity on you.

In the end, you chose to not go here anymore. It only served to hurt you, reignite hopes that ached and led to nothing. As much as it made you feel like a coward, the Rift had, in some strange way, begun to become your home. You had a few friends, you had expended a lot of energy, you had your little ball of glowing Hope-light... It had begun to take on a normalcy that was jarring and frightening and heartbreaking every time you reflected on it.

So you kind of chose not to, and the Portal represented all of this change, and with a brutal intensity.

Yet on that day, the relentless Scorch sun bearing down upon your back, you fly low over the trees, hooves rustling their dry crowns. You've been thinking about unity, about the upcoming gatherings in Halyven, about the restoration of Hope—and you've realized that sooner or later, you need to face your dislike of the Portal. Could be, that some day, someone will fall from the sky like you have, and need help. Could be, some lost soul will come through, and you can tell them of Halyven, and share your Hope with them.

A flash of light below catches your attention, and you bank hard, bringing yourself around sharply. Yes, there's a horse down there—pearly white, like a sore thumb in the shadows and neon lights. You take a deep breath, and plunge through the trees, flaring your wings as you clear the last branches and glide, jaggedly, to get rid of the speed. You can't stretch your wings fully, so it's a graceless affair, ending with a jog once you're on the ground. Breathless, you make your way up to the mare, surprised by the honey scent she gives off.

Surprised, by the honeycombs along her neck, and the thick, golden liquid—is honey a liquid? you suddenly wonder—running down her face and neck. "Hello," you manage to say, panting lightly. She's taller than you, of a more refined build, and that always serves to make you sort of embarrassed about your own disheveled looks. You're short and compact and your thick, dark hair is a wild mess. "I'm Waker. What is your name?"

Welcome! <3 Let me know if you find it confusing that I write Waker in 2nd person and I can switch to 3rd for the duration of the thread. ^^
@Symphony