Clatter, Clank.

It’s the sound of bone against stone, pebbles under hooves, rocks falling from above. It is all of these things that make up a haunting melody that mingles lightly with the call of the vultures overhead. There is a scraping noise as tangled dreads create small trenches in the dust as the slide along the path. If one was to zoom out, they would see a creature slowly making her way up the winding path.

No destination, no sight.

She hugs the inner corner, she uses her feet carefully, testing the ground before putting weight forward. Her eyes are milky white, and her mane and tail are tangled and mixed with pieces of bone. Her build once belonged to a grey andalusian though in her old age it might not be recognizable. She carries herself with an air that comes to the clinically insane. An air you know you should be afraid of but something piques your curiousity and you can’t help but be sucked in by some magnetic force.

Her swayed back, her easily visible ribs, the grotesque skull that hangs around her neck by a strand of silver twine. She is inevitably, repulsive, not one with anything, and not belonging anywhere.

She is no peak mare, though perhaps she wouldn’t mind it. Azhkeht was the only male company she needs. She reaches the top of the climb and the winds shift. She smells another creature and she feels the level ground spread in front of her sightless eyes. “What does it bring us love?” She whispers in her cracked voice, her feet picking up as she glides her way over to Valencia.

“It is…” She reaches out her imploring nostrils and searches Valencia with her sense of smell. “It seems it is alive.” She laughs, a deep throated and creepy laugh and the temperature around her seems to drop ten degrees. “He says your pretty child, he’s never wrong.” She reaches out and just barely brushes the mare’s back with her old and yellowed teeth. She makes no effort to move back, not even a friendly gesture to give the other wild creature personal space. She stays where she is, and breaths in a rhythmic manner.

Screech, ha, screech, ha.

It’s the sound of a witch’s lungs.