Since her conversation with Clarity, the rose-gray mare found ways to occupy her time, if only to shove back the memories the black and white mare had stirred to life. Thara. Diccon. How often had she thought of her ghosts? How long had it been since the last time she shoved every memory and emotion back deep into the recesses of her mind, if only to save herself the pain of heartache? Like it or not, Clarity had struck a chord with the mention of those names, just as she meant to. What was worse, it stuck like a splinter buried deep within a festering wound. At some point, it was bound to come to a head.

The strangled call that rises above the gently billowing zephyrs immediately draws the patrolling woman’s attention and sends all other thoughts to the four winds.

Small, cupped lobes pitch forward amid the wind-swept tangle of her charcoal mane as the silver-eyed mare cast a roaming gaze over the serene meadow that stretched before her. Nothing seemed amiss.

Yet the nagging feeling of impending doom lingered like a coming storm.

The metallic tang of freshly spilt blood stirs her into motion, causing the huntress to weave her way back and forth along the border of the meadow and deeper into the lower treeline in an attempt to pinpoint the scent. It is only when she finds herself once more on the open hillside of rock and tundra grass does the familiar crimson form comes into view.

Nahawi.

At least, she thinks it is Nahawi. Battered and bruised and broken, the beast that struggles upon the granite surface of the rockface appears to be an almost entirely different creature. ’....Khar…’ the name that leaves his lips sends a chill coursing down her spine as she makes her way nearer at a swift pace. ”Nahawi? Nahawi, what happened to you?” She asks, halting beside his struggling frame, concern written in her pale gaze. Although she never felt any romantic attachment towards the russet beast, still, Nahawi had always been one of the very few stallions that she actually appreciated. At least, inasmuch as she could ever appreciate.

But seeing him like this? Broken. Beaten. Wavering on death’s doorstep with one hoof on either side…

”Who did this?” she whispers, her voice trembling.

Khar'pern

The jungle is dark but full of diamonds;