Ramblers in the wilderness

Zahra & Ilham

It was pride that turned angels into devils

There was no such thing as night in the rift; no such thing as day… 

There was nothing to actually signify any passing of time at all, except for the drenching rain when (very) occasionally, it paused. The mostly stagnant, ominous weather system was about the only thing (at least the most noticeable) in this surreal, perilous world of neon-brights, that did change. Here and there, events were occurring; strange phenomenons which drew Helovians and their native Riftian counterparts from far and wide, to partake in strange battles; or observe inexplicable milestones. One thing she had come quickly to appreciate, was that the Rift was as unpredictable and treacherous, as it was beautiful. 

Seeing Bird again, no matter the cruel nature of the delusion, had fuelled her with motivation to return to the portal; it would be the first time since reuniting with her father’s reanimated corpse, soul - since she had attacked him in a fit of fearful rage there, with the skulking shadows and cold, white eyes bearing witness to her felony. She was yet to forgive herself, though ironically, he had been her steadfast companion for the length of her journey after - goodness only knew why… 

For this occasion, however, she was travelling alone

As the rain spewed copiously down from the heavens, Zahra wheeled down through the tepid, misty air towards the (now) familiar jungle of vine and old, gnarled, hideous timber. Like a mirage on the horizon, the mysterious portal winked and rippled transparently though, and otherwise camouflaged; golden eyes breezed across it, with little interest in its peculiar presence this time around. Though, as she sailed still lower, tucked hooves within reach of the tallest, twisted kindling, the air began to shake violently, thunderously, and she was purged from its midst. 

Shadows leapt around her, ignoring stale flesh which they’d ravaged once before, yet she struggles, all the same, to free herself from the bed of tendril cloaked twig, just in case; she couldn’t be sure that she was safe, at all. When at last she’d wriggled free, a little bruised - heart thrashing beneath a soft breast - golden eyes sought to survey the murky, sinister undergrowth surrounding and their quiet, cautious search revealed a stranger nearby.

For a moment she stood motionless, wishing perhaps, that she might not be seen; but Zahra had crossed many bridges of late, and his posture - frozen, confused - begged for something more. 

"H…hello?" 

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