Searching for a needle in a haystack

Eira... Even as the other horse appeared, casually swanning forward from the tree line to explain the cause of the sound with a gesturing muzzle, Eira remained frozen on the spot, stricken until the great, resounding sound of the screech had well and truely ceased. It was all very well for one so ripe with confidence, portraying such a picture of overall wellbeing to strut fearlessly and tempt the dangers of this world, but the little blue orphan knew well her vulnerabilities, and it had not been her intention at all to draw attention to her position in such a blaring way.   When at last the rigidness of fear had relinquished fierce hold on her piteous frame, sunken blue eyes sought the bright, flashy gaze of the other; they didn’t linger long there, however, instead honing in on the intricate silver-gold armour which perched upon the brow above, and the snowy-looking feathers which swayed beyond that. A winged skull seemed unusual, lovely to behold (they were perfectly straight, clean and well-formed), though quite unlike any pegasus she had before seen. A feeling of insecurity washed over her, spurred by the noticeably standoffish behaviour of the other, and the tiny, barbered wings by her sides tucked in closer. A movement in the fringe of the vegetation pulled both pairs of eyes towards it, and a look of startled amazement overwhelmed her solemn expression. She stumbled backwards (even more careful of the rocks than before), slipping behind her sinewy company - who it seemed was less fazed. From cover, she peered upwards, observing the utterly enormous moving tree, with gaping, incredulous eyes. Could this be what the Rift had demanded that she find? Lips touched lightly by the rash athwart her bod and she mused with growing despair, about how to go about dissecting the incredible, majestic creature. With out its organs, she feared permanent affliction; the cracks, irritation and itch, together with the excruciating pain through scorch, had been completely unbearable. Suddenly fearful, she stepped away from the stranger, willing those eyes to find the desperation in her own. “Please,” they begged, “help me!” "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
@Rift Presence