Off the edge of the map

She left the twins in the care of their father and set off on her own, refusing to listen to any objections. Quite apart from the bone deep weariness and the frightening new forces that had erupted upon her body there was nothing wrong with her, and she had a purpose with this trip that had nothing to do with wanting to be alone. 

Not entirely, at least. 

Sitting still would be dangerous, she realized. Allowing herself to come to a halt would be the death of her, and of them all. Grief lay like a choking blanket over all her emotions, numbing her ability to feel deeply about anything. The analytical part of her mind analyzed that it was shock that made her so remote, shock and loss and the fear that came of uncertainty. Leaving herself in the care of others, no matter how well meaning or caring they were, would allow her too much time to dwell on her grief and the terrors she had seen. Before long depression would come creeping in, melancholy as deep and draining as any poison. If ever there had been a time for clear thinking and action it was now, and Erthë refused to let her recent motherhood or the need of the twins to hold her back. 

In fact, she reasoned, this trip might benefit them eventually. 

Picking a direction at random, the pale young mare set off in a general southbound direction. She would have preferred to fly, to get her bearings and see the general overlay over this dark and gloomy realm they had been forced into, but on one hand she was too weak from the recent labor and still heavy with the excess bulk pregnancy had forced upon her, and on the other the constant downpour had soaked her feathers through to such an extent that she feared they might never dry completely again. Thus she kept to her feet and made her way gradually south, guided by the light of the fire that dripped from her feathers and hair in never ending streams, all while noting everything she saw and felt to herself for later reference. Her memory was excellent, well trained by Alune the Seer during her apprenticeship but there was just so much that was strange, so many things that were alien to her that the young mare simply had to memorize everything she saw. 

It was exhausting, an impossible task, and yet she persisted. 

Finding food in this place would be just as much of a challenge as finding shelter. Even the most innocent looking strand of grass might be full of toxins, while stinking, rotted looking fungi might be rare delicacies... there was no way of knowing for sure. Not unless she either found a native willing to share such information... or tried it out for herself. 

Not exactly something she looked forward to. 

The rain didn't stop, no matter how far south we went. Even when the terrible forest seemed to meld into an overgrown jungle, the downpour came in sheets, drenching me to my bones, or so I was pretty sure, anyway. Duir was of an equal mind, his dreary gait alongside me indicative of the mood that the weather has put my usually optimistic friend in.

It has to stop soon, I try and console the both of us, but even my mental tone suggests I don't believe a word. Both my ears fall further back than they’re already tilted, in an attempt to keep the rain out. It dampens the sound of the jungle about us, which is frightening, if Duir’s elevating anxiety is any sort of clue.

The distraction of a white figure, then, is obvious and welcome. Pausing to get a better look before we approach, Duir is the first to recognize her, though I stare, aware the stranger is familiar, but unable to place them.

Erthe, he says, his way of naming people peculiar as usual; it's not actually her name, rather pictures of her, flashes and energies that aren’t really words, but ideas, and feelings.

Ugh, is my entirely emotional retort, feeling my shoulder pang in memory of her bow. Still, something nags at me as I look at her, that I’m fortunate to know anyone in this distant world.

Forgive? asks my buck, looking out at her hopefully.

No, I answer, moving towards her regardless. I pause when I’m close enough to chat, but not enough to scare her off - hopefully. I had beat her ass the last we’d seen each other, after all.

”Should have figured you’d have made it through,” I dryly remark, no smile, not a glimmer in my eye, only despondency, a depressing placidness - who I am now, I guess, ”nothing could kill you, I don’t think. What’s with your hair?”

And why do you look like such hot shit? I’d almost asked with wry humor, before I’d really got a look at her. She’d had a kid recently, if her figure was any hint, but I didn’t see one tailing after her. Deciding not to jest in case something terrible had befallen them (she’d shot me for being callous about her loses before, the crazy wench), I still don’t chose the entirely “nice” route either.

[ OOC: phone post :o ]

You gotta have the patience and believe you're gonna make it
Gotta hold on

She was on her guard. Anything else in a place like this would have been foolish. Erthë was many things; naive, ignorant, nosy and occasionally reckless but stupid... at least she refused to acknowledge the idea that it might be a trait she possessed. She had spent her young life trying to rectify many of those flaws, and still went at it even though the enthusiasm towards learning was dulled and non-existent at the moment.

At any rate, she stopped and gazed warily in the direction of the approaching figure. If it turned out to be something even remotely dangerous she would run. Turn tail and disappear, like the coward she had becom. No... no, like Kisamoa had made her by taking away her blood, her light, her hopes and dreams.

There was nothing left. And when she saw that the figure before her was Rikyn, her stance relaxed so suddenly that she almost seemed about to fall apart. Compared to the recent horrors, their disagreements seemed trivial.

The young mother did not even try to smile at his quip, and shifted uneasily as she glanced down at the flames that fell endlessly towards the damp ground, licking her shoulders with a quiet tickle of magical energy that made her shudder with longing and unease. It felt almost like the old, familiar magic, as if the Sun and the Moon were walking beside her with wings of power held protectively to shield against the darkness. Almost. But the taint of the Rift was there too, seeping into her with every breath, dribbling across her with the revolting touch of Kaos... Oh, how Erthë resented it. All of it. The darkness, the damp, the ceaseless patter of rain... it made her want to weep with longing for a place she could no longer return to, and regret for the tears she could not seem to shed.

Her tears had dried up, for no amount of crying could lessen her pain.

"The amulets... they shattered" she said, voice dispassionate though the twist of her lips expressed disgust at the memory. "The fire has been burning since... I cannot seem to put it out."

There wasn't much more to add. Instead the young mare let her gaze travel over the familiar face, absently noting the few trinkets that adorned his frame and the scars that she did not remember from the past. The trip through the Portal did not seem to have become him, for aside from the haunted and disorient look that she thought she saw in the eyes of all Helovians he appeared well.

Strong, as always. Handsome in a roguish way that rather appealed to her, and just as arrogant as the first time she had met him. Perhaps a bit more grim, and more in control of himself... Age and experience must have finally taught him to restrain that burning temper of his.

"I'm scouting the area" she told him, "and looking to see if I recognize any of the plants around here. Have you gone much farther? I would appreciate any information you might have come by... "

It was worth a try, although Erthë had little hope of actually hearing anything useful. Even if he knew something, it was not altogether certain that Rikyn would tell her. Their dealings in the past had been... less than friendly, and spite might tempt him to make this encounter just as unpleasant.

She hoped he wouldn't though. This was not the time, and she was decidedly not in the mood to bicker with someone who was not really an enemy.

I know you're tired of surviving but you gotta keep on trying
Hold on!

Something about the way she looks at me as I approach makes me think she’s almost glad to see me, a fleeting thought that raises my brow, as well as far too many questions to pursue the notion further. Feeling some of my wary tension that she’s still pissed at me slake away, I don’t crumple into weakness, like she does, changing from a glacier into a heap of powdery snow always shifting shape beneath the breeze; I stay me, golden, without a mark of rust or tarnish, but soft, malleable, attaining the temperature of the world around it.

Weakness hidden beneath a gilded veneer; not bronze, like my father, not diamond or crystalline…

Gold.

"Some of mine did too," I tell her, when she speaks of her amulets having done this to her, rather than just the land, "but not his. And the ones that did, did nothing but glimmer uselessly."

Like the Gods had, when they’d died, I think bitterly, the stab of the real hollow ache behind the self-defense mechanism of blame rising sharply in my breast. I sigh, a heavy thing, a forceful pressure upon the tears that want to spill forth with childish ease across a face to old for such whimsy.

"No, I’ve only come this far, myself," I answer honestly, because I have no reason to lie to her or anyone else, not anymore. Fuck it. If people want to get mad at me for things they could do just as well, they could sit on my horn and rotate. While food is surely a worthy endeavor, my quest is for shelter. Let the horticulturists and flower peddlers of the world deal with figuring out what won’t kill us from what will turn us into flying goats. I want to be warm, damn it, to have a place where my daughters can be, too. "I’m just looking for a place it isn’t raining."

Something about her gaze is desperate, though, so I give what little I do know about how to pick out a safe food from a dangerous one – not that I really know what I’m talking about. Most of my survival skills are based primarily in the “dumb luck” category.

"Stick to stuff that looks edible, and don’t eat more than a small bite and wait an hour or so," I tell her, shrugging, "otherwise, trust your nose. If it makes it tingle or it smells off, don’t eat it. Kept me alive while I was looking for the bitch who shall not be named. Done okay for the past day. Been sticking to the grass-type things."

Albeit, a bit sore in the gut, considering it was all a lot more waterlogged than my belly was used to.

You gotta have the patience and believe you're gonna make it
Gotta hold on

She sought out his gaze as if she might somehow divine the truth of his words there. Perhaps the suspicion was undue and somewhat beneath her, but times were hard... it was impossible to say who could be trusted anymore. It was difficult for someone like her, who wished to believe the best of everyone she met. After Kisamoa however, Erthë found it difficult to trust anyone at all. Even herself.

Regardless, she nodded in acknowledgment of his advice, knowing it to be a good way to test for poison as well as beneficial effects.

"Why are you carrying around his amulet?" she asked then, frowning at the bay with a look of disgust. "After everything he's done... how can you still hold on to his so called gifts?"

The seaweed he had given her had disappeared sometime between the slaughter - she refused to acknowledge what had occurred as battle - and her reunion with Volterra on this side of the Portal. The little mare was glad, it saved her the trouble of destroying it herself. Nothing of Kisamoa's taint would be allowed near her or her children, not if she had any say in the matter.

Something else seemed to agree with her on this. Even as Erthë spoke, the Moon's purple feather reacted to something on Rikyn's person. From its place in her mane it began to emit a thick, black vapor, dense and choking. Like noxious fingers it trailed on the erratic gusts through the air, as if reaching for the stallion and the tainted artefact he apparently carried.

Startled, Erthë watched it happen with wide eyes, torn between fear and amusement. Even in death the Lady appeared to be with her... it was a soothing thought that offered a great deal of comfort.

I know you're tired of surviving but you gotta keep on trying
Hold on!

@Rikyn

Finding her anger somewhat annoying but amusing all in one abrupt change of her expression, I lift my head arrogantly, looking down at her with a smirk that reads “well aren’t you just stuck in denial.” Maybe it’s cold, but, honestly, the Gods are dead. All that is left is this Kaos guy, surely the only reason they hadn’t exploded, and the notion of throwing away any form of potential aid in a world like this felt more foolish than holding onto them. Besides, if this amulet was at all like the ones back home, then it contained some of Kaos, himself.

My mom may have been a crazy bitch, but she was a woman who knew things. Maybe it came from a life lived in a magical place, or maybe it was just that she’d gone out of her way to learn these things, but if she was to be believed, a name and blood were about the most tying things a person could give another. It gave them power over you. It was why I liked to lie about being Calor, or Dristan; it was why, I reminded myself, I still needed to learn to be someone else a little better.

Due to reply, I’m distracted by the feather she wears, dark tendrils seeming to pour from it. Sidestepping away to disallow them to graze me, I swat at their reach with my horn, annoyance writ on my face.

“What the fuck?” I question, not for the first time since coming to this land; it seems like everything is trying to touch you here. Well, everything except the ladies. Glacia has been flatly ignoring me… Regardless, my focus only stays on the smoke as long as it takes to figure its not dangerous, before I’m looking back at Erthë, not giving a fuck about her feelings on what I decide to wear. Especially as what she decides to wear thinks it can grope me at will.

“Hair of the dog?” I say, Duir looking over at me with his brows hunkering down, his muzzle shaking ever so slightly side to side in disapproval of my disregard of Erthë’s offense, “either way, owning his shit doesn’t mean he owns me. Only whores sell out for jewelry, and we both know I’m high class.”

I flash the disgruntled, pale mare wink, perhaps an inappropriate one. My buck quietly wonders alongside me if I haven’t gone mad.

You gotta have the patience and believe you're gonna make it
Gotta hold on

Without saying anything, Erthë watched as Rikyn moved away from the noxious fumes. The hint of a smile touched her lips at his reaction, amusement glittering in her gaze... Perhaps he was right. She would never be able to lay eyes upon the Goddess again, but by wearing a piece of Her on her person, it felt as though they had not been completely parted. It was a poor substitute for the real thing, however. Unlike Rikyn, the little mare was firm in her loyalties and her deep reverence for the Helovian deities could not so easily be traded off with logic. Yes, her gods were dead, and it was Kaos who murdered them. Never would she bow her head to him, never would any of his powers lay claim to her body or soul.

"You are a fool, Rikyn" she said softly, appearing concerned as she regarded the arrogant stallion, "if you think that Kisamoa's gifts come without a price. Nothing is free, in this world or any other, and I thought you would have learned this by now. "

Erthë wanted to shake him, to erase that smug smile off his face. Did he not see the truth of their situation, or did he just not care? She looked at the stag next to him, a brow raised as if to say 'Can't you talk sense into him?'... But perhaps it was too much to ask of a soul-bound. How much influence did they have over their other halves? Having never been honored with such a connection it was hard to tell, and Erthë sighed, resigned to the realization that Rikyn would have to learn his own lessons the hard way.

His arrogant remark about being high class earned him nothing but a derisive snort, the mouth of the pale-coated mare twisting in a mocking smile.

"To me it looks rather like you've been bribed into complacency. Are you sure you wouldn't bow to him, if he offer you other little trinkets? How long before you let him mount you as well, Rikyn? How long before you crawl by his hooves and turn on your own kin just to please him? Would you murder your family for some magic, or would it be alright as long as he was the one to dirty his teeth with their blood?"

The longer she spoke, the more her contempt was reflected upon the beautiful features. The pale eyes were hard and cold as they regarded the stallion, any respect she might have once held for him - no matter how small - quickly draining away. Shaking her head in disgust, Erthë began to walk again and gave the unicorn a wide berth as if coming in closer contact with him might somehow transfer some stain or disease.

I know you're tired of surviving but you gotta keep on trying
Hold on!

@Rikyn

As usual, it’s not long before she’s moved to potshots and insults, and not long after that that she begins to slink away. Smirking all the way up until her venomous words latch onto both my sexuality and sense of familial pride, my ears fall back flatly upon my head, the smirk suddenly replaced with a hateful scowl.

I hadn’t cut her deep enough last time, I see.

The dark within me that has been forced to yawn wider and wider by each passing event of my totally fucked life roars from within, the mirth illuminating the gold of my eyes (which had mocked her narrow mindedness from what I believed a nonchalant distance) is suddenly doused in chill. They narrow into slits, that coldly regard her as she tries to slip past me as she always does, as if, because she does not hobble in this new world, and instead drips fire, I’m any less capable of hurting her than I ever have been.

“It’s just a fucking necklace, you pretentious, naïve, soon to be dead as door nails idiot piece of hypocritical shit with a dead God’s back strapped to your side! It’s just a necklace, and hating me for having it won’t bring any of them back. They’re dust, Erthë! At least I’m a fool facing the problem, not pretending it doesn’t exist, like a coward. You’re walking away because it hurts you,” I spit at her, “well keep walking. You can walk your legs into bloody stumps and it will still hurt, they’ll still be dead as fuck, and we’ll still be here, where all your bleeding sentiment might as well be a giant target exclaiming, ‘kill me first! Kill me!’”

Still muttering and cussing to myself as I pivot away from her and stalk further into the jungle land, I store away an “I told you so,” for the smoldering pile of Kaos decimated ruin that used to be called Erthë, when the time comes.

“Insinuate I'd kill my family,” I mutter, kicking rocks and roots as I storm away, “lucky I don't kill her and then eat her stupid gropey feather...”

You gotta have the patience and believe you're gonna make it
Gotta hold on

It was the same vicious cycle all over again, with nothing learned and nothing gained from the scars of the past. Over and over again they subjected each other to the same pain and frustration, and for what? Only more bitterness, only more inflamed wounds to pride and honor as they remained unable to let things go.

But Erthë was not the same as she had been before. Grief and experience had hardened her, body and soul, like soft iron wrought into steel in the forge of life, and the mare that spun around on light feet and charged after Rikyn with eyes as hard as any diamond was not the little girl that had run away crying from their last fight. Power surged in her veins now, more potent than ever before and this time she did not hesitate before she turned it on him. Paying kindness with kindness would only ever work if both parties were kind, and she found none of that within the pig-headed stallion.

The constant rain that dampened the ground and filled the air with damp moisture made this dreary season the ultimate weapon for the little mare. With a swell of energy she turned up the temperature of the liquids in the air around Rikyn, from lukewarm rain to scalding hot steam in the blink of an eye.

"Who's the hypocrite here!?" she snarled, as she tried to race past him and cut his progress off. Ivory teeth lashed out at his face; she was too angry for mere magic to be entirely satisfying. "I am facing the problem, the fucking problem of being trapped in a fucked up world because I was too naive to recognize a lie for what it was. Kisamoa lied to us, Rikyn, to all of us and if you think that he will never do that again you are not just blind, you are stupid too! I was going to walk away because your thick-headed idiocy was giving me a headache, but now I think I will stay, and you will stay here too until you realize that I am not the enemy here!"

And if that meant she would have to kick his ass to the ground and shove it down his throat, Erthë would be more than happy to oblige. She was tired of stallions who tried to walk all over her, tired of being lost and frightened and sad. Anger was a sweet relief from all that, and she clung to it with bleeding hands as it if were the last straw that might save her from madness.

I know you're tired of surviving but you gotta keep on trying
Hold on!

@Rikyn

I suppose I should have expected it; now that I think about it, the last time we’d run into one another, and things had escalated into violence, she’d thrown the first punch, too. This time, I’m as off kilter as I had been then: it’s not a dead dad, this time, though, but a dead homeland, including Gods and favorite places and people who I would never, ever get to see again. The only thing that keeps me from reacting exactly the way I did last time are the things I do have: their two gold marked faces come to mind, smiling, sleeping, sweet and tender, precious and perfect.

The suddenly scalding rain and the sound of her shrill shouts and scampering hoof beats draw my escape of her stupidity to a halt. Grinding my teeth together so tightly that my jaw nearly locks up, my ears flatten and warp shape with the pressure with which they are placed on my skull. Even the pain of the searing rain does little to delay the being of pure aggression which turns around to face her, a twisted smile lingering on his lips.

“You’re the idiot,” I tell her, Duir pivoting alongside me to stare pleadingly between the two of us. He’s quite tired of this game, the incessant brutality between two people he personally likes; he does not understand the deep set splinter at the heart of our relationship. He barely understands the one inside of me.

I meet her gnashing teeth with a forward strike of my horn, not caring if I maim her face, feeling hers clip the fore of my face slightly, clipping away the dark hair, and leaving a bruise.

She was ugly on the inside. To be mutilated would do the world justice, allowing them to see her for who she was. Narrow minded, hateful, unforgiving like everyone, it was people like her who made the world fucked up to begin with. Fools, who thought themselves more powerful than fate or the tempests which roared around them: bird-brained, ivory pure, overly justified morons.

I reach out with my magic now. I grasp at the tendrils of her mind and I bid it to force her body to her knees, where she belongs, and I do so while meeting her wild eyes, with my own, that are cold, distant: ruthless.

“What is wrong with you? You think that because he lied to you, it makes you any less a part of his world now? I’m not your enemy, either, but you’re attacking me, you crazed bitch!” I half shout, soon resonating into a fully booming one, accompanied with spittle and all, “You’re blindly an enemy to yourself!”

Panting, I bite back the urge to just stab her, and be done with it. Prove it, real quick, that she liked dancing in fire. Make her accept that part of herself, piece by piece, cut by cut, like I had, waking up on the desert floor, the man who would have killed me flooding life back into my heart, his daughter weeping at my side, or as I’d fled the grasp of my uncle’s dark malevolence that would have taken me too, if I’d dared to defy it. It still hurt, to be weak, to see my mother’s curved smirk as she shakes her head and walks away (never looking back), but I’d rather feel small and have to ignore it, every minute of every fucking day, than be dead and feeling nothing.

“I almost killed you last time, you moron! You’re reckless and selfish, and you don’t care who it hurts – your mom, your kid – cause yeah, I saw your fat ass, and just didn’t say anything, thought, "hey, I'll be nice," but who gives a fuck, I got assaulted anyway. I for one have a family to make it home to. I can’t afford to fight with dumb bitches like you anymore, ” is the wrathfully expunged maelstrom of my most prevalent thoughts, “just keep the hell away from me, from now on, and I'll do the same for you. I’m over being attacked by an impulsive mad woman keen on getting herself blown up.”