Prologue Thick coils, inch by inch, wrapping, forming an explicit noose around a thin fig tree, it’s roots reaching for the sky as it lay crosswise, the fine wood charred, blackened by time and rot, moulds, algae, ferns and other flora wrapping, encasing, hiding the fallen tree from view. And so nature thought that was where it would remain, resting, lazing… but of course nature could never be completely correct. No. A bolt of gold, condensed and glowing bright in the falling light of the twilight sun, smashed into the fallen-fig, shattering wood and sending pale brown splinters arcing into the air about it, the tree itself splitting in half at the point of impact, carving thick grooves into the ground, rats and centipedes, millipedes and roaches all scurrying as the fled the haven of their lives… until more of those golf ball sized pellets of golden luminance blasted holes in the ground, sending sods and damp dirt cascading down on the smaller creatures of the ecosystem… And right behind the murderous balls of light, which claimed the lives of so very many little beings, were the thunderous drumming of hooves punching through grass and leaf, pummelling twig and fern, and crashing through the thick branches of the Everfree. But not all of these hooves were in one big cluster. From a bird’s eye view, one could see a single creature, wrapped in tattered black dressing, satchel bouncing up and down on her neck, as the creature’s mane and tail whipped and snapped in the air, horn glowing an even brighter gold than that of the bolts being fired at her, as flickering disks of her own magic formed, stopping some of the attacking balls with no implication, and others shattering, the orb travelling, whisking away in an skewed direction, crushing the hulk of a tree nearby. More splinters, more shrapnel. But leave the view of the birds, and enter the eyes of Csalit Halai, a mare panting heavily, a torn breath struggling to escape her throat as it was dragged right back in with another ragged breath, coat, a pale, pale cream, bordering of the origin of white, glistening with the thick dampness of sweat, her wood-maroon mane covering, whipping, lacing around ear, eye and brow. How much further could she flee? How long until one of those bolts hit her, tearing flesh and putting her to final rest? How long until she would be a resemblance of the two halves of a Magnificent Fig she just galloped past? Well, who could know?Prologue Thick coils, inch by inch, wrapping, forming an explicit noose around a thin fig tree, it’s roots reaching for the sky as it lay crosswise, the fine wood charred, blackened by time and rot, moulds, algae, ferns and other flora wrapping, encasing, hiding the fallen tree from view. And so nature thought that was where it would remain, resting, lazing… but of course nature could never be completely correct. No. A bolt of gold, condensed and glowing bright in the falling light of the twilight sun, smashed into the fallen-fig, shattering wood and sending pale brown splinters arcing into the air about it, the tree itself splitting in half at the point of impact, carving thick grooves into the ground, rats and centipedes, millipedes and roaches all scurrying as the fled the haven of their lives… until more of those golf ball sized pellets of golden luminance blasted holes in the ground, sending sods and damp dirt cascading down on the smaller creatures of the ecosystem… And right behind the murderous balls of light, which claimed the lives of so very many little beings, were the thunderous drumming of hooves punching through grass and leaf, pummelling twig and fern, and crashing through the thick branches of the Everfree. But not all of these hooves were in one big cluster. From a bird’s eye view, one could see a single creature, wrapped in tattered black dressing, satchel bouncing up and down on her neck, as the creature’s mane and tail whipped and snapped in the air, horn glowing an even brighter gold than that of the bolts being fired at her, as flickering disks of her own magic formed, stopping some of the attacking balls with no implication, and others shattering, the orb travelling, whisking away in an skewed direction, crushing the hulk of a tree nearby. More splinters, more shrapnel. But leave the view of the birds, and enter the eyes of Csalit Halai, a mare panting heavily, a torn breath struggling to escape her throat as it was dragged right back in with another ragged breath, coat, a pale, pale cream, bordering of the origin of white, glistening with the thick dampness of sweat, her wood-maroon mane covering, whipping, lacing around ear, eye and brow. How much further could she flee? How long until one of those bolts hit her, tearing flesh and putting her to final rest? How long until she would be a resemblance of the two halves of a Magnificent Fig she just galloped past? Well, who could know? Spoiler: Afterpost Message Mew. Well may as well post as per chapter... this is not going to be a very short one.
