The pre-dawn light spilled forth from sol's orb ascending. Quiet, serene, in its beckoning call. Moving through its motions long made immortal. Many moved through their own rituals, gathering, stepping out, eating. All to pause, however briefly, as she moved by, through, and within her song.

No words, no harmony, to echo in the fading sands of luna's dreamscape to waking and sleeping minds. Her song spoke, ever changing its perspective upon all ears. Some would pine for those long lost. Others aired grievances left buried, more still wept, reminders of what could have been lingering before them, ashen.

Onward she marched, her pace patient, her grace serene, ethereal, as ichorous tones spilled outward, opening what night and day kept hidden. Ponies did, ponies acted, and discord merely watched, an ear knowing of her song in the brightest day. One that he might see, but dared not touch, in wrath redoubled. He would only turn, and bless those of nature, and its guardian with his own kindness.

Tenebrous, her words had delved deep upon one in distant time, whom stirred at such dulcet tones, recalling lessons learned. The grace of alabaster, shining forth in the thrice bound orb from on high in morning light. Smells and ambiance bringing a shiver of other times, before will and forgiveness strode forth to banish the foggy nightmares with love and lessons truly learned.

Far distant, of city gleaming bright, two stirred, joined, apart, but truly together hugged in the mourning light, thoughts listening to their curse, and burden, shouldered willingly so long ago. Of so many left behind, through the ages. Burdened by the ever encroaching sands of time, until they to were to be sifted back upon the grand machine. Smiles, intermixed with tears, would linger that day. They understood, after all.

Still, amongst the marketplaces crowd, the pink hued one sung, antlers ringing in the aether swirling about her task. Her dues and tasks set forth by will indomitable. And in such an epicenter, the conflagration started. Words to spark dry and dusty timbers, left upon the earth enchanted, given life by time and unsaid promises. Action spoke then, of hooves and bodies. The passion interposed with pain. And for such a time, bedlam ruled in the chorus. Until another sung. Until she sung back.

She stood before her, eyes sparkling, tears, of her wounds visible. She knew, of hardship. She knew, of pain, of toil. Of pain not given, but earned to eke and live. She sung, not of the dark, but in love, of laughter. She saw, and she saw. They knew, and they wept, for their harmony was complete. They sung, together, swaying the moment, imperceptibly, tears intermixed between the bedlam fading, passion and anger long banished with but the briefest of notes.

The moment paused, as the moment ended, and began anew. Those seeing the sight before them looked away, shame warring with regret, their wounds cleansed, as they moved in unison to the downcast pink mare. Yet she would smile.Yet she would move on, not through them, but to her mirror in song. Her words amongst the throng would banish such lingering moments, but her eyes, would match the knowing look. And she moved.

She moved onward, back home, beckoning a reunion long delayed. They knew, between them. No words could be spoken, but the song they shared was all. A bakery, it would be noted was kept closed that day, notices left in words regrettable, but taken with understanding. This was personal, each visitor understood, as they paused to look, hearing the song woven behind those doors. Harmony provided, after all.

And for that day, they reconnected, they shared, they understood, and they were one. Both understood, both lamented, both laughed, and spoke the songs they lived. They understood, after all.

Author's Note

A rather particular song and image art sorta brought this one on late one night with my muse, and yeah. I've been one to be unhappy for a very long time.