Broken Dawn

Flames lick marble walls.

Soft grass, green and moist with morning dew; flowers dotting the meadow; vibrant hews.

The clamor of a city screaming; hoarse yells from a foot, a block, a mile away; the din of calamity somehow inconsequential.

Rich earth furrowed around a hoof; the light, hot and gentle from a brilliant sun; an ant crawling up a pastern, making its way over and between cerulean hairs, stiff with dried sweat.

Hooves planted firm on uneven cobblestones. Hot wetness on his forehead, the scent of copper, the all-too-familiar taste of blood in the corner of his mouth. Ears ringing; the situation must be assessed.

Firming his stance reflexively, the stallion braces against dangers unclear as he tries to gather his thoughts. The fires rise freakishly, growing with a speed impossible for a place so unwelcoming to a natural blaze. He’s unstable, wounded, but like no wound he had experienced before; the searing pain through his head makes it impossible to… the hot, dry wind drifts over his primaries… the updraft…

Gasping, the stallion snapped back from the burning city. The grass he laid on was firm and its scent crisp in the summer air. There was no sign of whatever disaster he had just witnessed, no city within his clearing vision, and the only sounds were of far off insects, always seeking out their noisy mates.

He struggled to clear his head, but the more intently he surveyed his surroundings, the less alarmed he felt, and the less at ease he became. Sleep’s strange blanket settled over his wings and flanks as he tried to fight it off. The sense that he must rise and look for cover overwhelmed him as the calm embrace moved down his flanks and shoulders, and panic began to set in full force  as his mind began to slip from consciousness, the last of his awareness relaying a soft yellow and a mare’s voice speaking gentle words that he couldn't understand.