Searching for a needle in a haystack

Eira... There was a turbulent response to the fading life force the old Living Tree. The lush emerald leaves of the forest trees surrounding, began to lash and snap violently in the sudden rouse of wind. The rain too intensified, swirling through the standing crowd of nearby trunks and limber undergrowth, beating against the pair who were sunken upon the cold, aromatic, soil floor. The energy and the rise of howling noise were frightening and the small filly drew nearer to the kind tree and the gnarled finger-like branches that had curled throughout her thin, wispy, silver mane. The weather, however, ceased as suddenly then as it had stirred to life and after what felt a lot to Eira to be the climax of the freak storm, the rain paused and the wind eased, giving way to a shaft of glorious sunlight - the likes of which hadn’t been seen for a good many months already. It fell upon the rich, earthen timber as she nestled beside it, igniting the soft tones of the water-stained browns into a wildfire of auburn and honey. Rising and stumbling slowly backwards, the thoughtful child beheld the lifeless creature with a sombre, humbled eye. A gentle hum caressed her weak windpipe in his honour and she found herself after a small time spent simply standing by, drawn to the glimmering organs laid beneath his bark - a heart towards the centre, a brain beneath the thick wood at his crown. It was a task undertaken beneath a tide of many tears. Often she paused with lashes clenched tightly together, unable to push away the waves of wrenching memories, of the death and destruction which had taken place amid a different sort of storm. How desperately she missed her mother and her father, and vagabond thoughts detailed a harrowing selection of scenarios which might by now have befallen beloved Indra. Death was a phenomenon that brought with it great torment, and though she worked tirelessly while the sun’s breath faded once more into sheets of drizzle, then rain, above, Eira sobbed. She did not notice that the rash rotting her flesh had begun curiously to shrink. With each of the old tree’ s organs removed, the festering swamp of bloody, burning pus retreated - in its wake, was left the softest remark of blue-grey skin and a delicate, fine layer of downy fur regrowing upon it. When nearly two hours had passed, and the dim hue of twilight had drawn even longer the shadows around her, the soggy, starving filly gathered with a good amount of tenderness and care against her breast, the organs she had harvested. Pressing them to her matted coat there, with the gentle support of her nose, Eira began the journey to the weeping veil of the cherry tree's arms, that had given her and Vynter shelter when Drench had first arrived. Quietly she slipped below the pretty, spray of leaves, towards the silvery-veined trunk which stood marvellously hidden at the centre and after lowering her gift to the moist soil, she started ceremoniously to collect atop it pretty leaves and whatever flowers still bloomed in these, rain-hampered days. So too did she find the old shell of the passed caterpillar once rescued from the river rapids in the forest, and laid it (upon its tarnished leaf), with the rest. While the light remained enough to see, she began to dig a grave between the Glow-Cherry’s buttress-roots and when at last night fell across the scene, she had given thanks again to the Living Tree and fallen into deep sleep alongside.   "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
Thank you <3