Ashes
From a balcony, a pony watches the moon rise in a sky already filled with stars. Her moon, she smiles, and her stars. She turns her head towards the soft clopping of hooves, and her smile fades for a brief moment, before returning not as bright as it had been. She greets the ash-gray mare, and is greeted in return. The two ponies are content simply to gaze at the stars, at the landscape, at the ponies still out in the warm summer's night; for an hour, two hours, more.
Then, the eldest of ponies spreads her wings and leaps off the balcony, flying over the landscape, into the distance, until she is merely a speck on the horizon. The one left behind casts her gaze down, tears on her cheeks. She is soon joined by her older sister, neck against neck.
"She came." It is not a question; the state of the younger sister speaks more than words ever could. The ash-gray mare never leaves happines; it is not her domain.
"And she left. I had hoped…" The younger drifts off, slowly shaking her head.
"She is beyond hope, and her domain is beyond your dreams. One day, she will be there for us. I hope that day will not come soon."
The younger braves a tiny smile. "Beyond hope, you said?"
"Wish, then. I wish that day be far in the future, after everyone has left. When there are only us, and her." The exchange has changed over time.
"What will become of her, then? When final night falls?" She knows what answer her sister will give, but not asking is worse than hearing the answer again, in some way that neither sister truly understands, but still respects.
"She will do as she has always done. She will endure the night, and when the dawn comes again, she will ruin it, like she always has. That is her curse. I fear more the day she will break the cycle, than I fear the end of my own; although I will be long gone by then."
"Can she really end? What of her domain? What of those she leaves behind?" Again, a question as old as the exchange itself, as much a part of the two sisters as their corporeal forms; perhaps even more so, in the end.
"Her domain will end with her, and her chosen with it. Those she leaves behind will never more know harmony."
The exchange has changed over time, but the essence remains the same; while details are added and lost. The two sisters are not the first to partake in the exchange, nor will they be the last. The end of the ash-gray mare is still many cycles away.
"We will never know harmony."
The younger closes her eyes and shivers. "I wish it was not so. It's selfish, but I wish we were among the lucky ones. Among her chosen."
"We know that can not be; and whe know why that can not be. Do not cry over what will never come. If you must cry, cry for her, for the burden she must bear; the burden of her domain, of her curse."
The younger cries.
~:) (:~
From a balcony, a pony watches ponies die. Her ponies, she sighs, her friends. A weak smile graces her lips as the ash-gray mare alights beside her; it does not reach her eyes.
"War," the younger pony says.
"War," the ash-gray mare agrees, her voice deep and soothing, "a terrible thing. So many wounded, so many dead, and in the end, the cause is lost. I must bear my burden, for I do not wish it upon others. Yet others will bear it, for such is my curse. Others must suffer, for such is my domain. You must suffer, for that is the way things are. I wish it was not so. Will you join me today?" Phrased as a request, yet undeniably one that cannot be turned down.
"It is too early," the younger answers, still. She has no faith in her own denial. "There are still others. Can we not wait until we are truly alone?" She knows how things will be, now; the ash-gray mare always knew. That was the way she suffered; always knowing what should not be known, never sharing that knowledge until the last moment.
Without another word, the eldest of ponies leaves.
The youngest is once again joined by her sister. The two embrace; in silence, for there are no words left to be spoken. Instead, they take to the air, and join the ash-gray mare on a final flight over the ruins of what was once their lands.
They pause for a moment before six statues; five in the likeness of ponies, the sixth bearing the shape of a dragon, curling around the other five as though they were his hoard. In a way, they had been; in the way that one's friends are one's greatest treasure. For him, they had been.
There should have been a sixth pony, but the ash-gray mare had come for her near the end of the war, with no pony to carve a statue in her honour. The elder sister cries for the pony without a statue.
With a sad smile, the ash-gray mare leads the two sisters away from her domain, even as she wishes she could bring them into her chosen; she knows, has always known, and will always know, that it can never be so. As the sisters leave on their last journey, like so many before them, the ash-gray mare falls to the ground, and she screams to the skies, tears streaming down her face. And as final night falls, she turns to ash, yet endures, and prepares to ruin first dawn.
Author's Note
Behold: what pretentious crap my brain poops out when I don't sleep.