On the gaseous green hilltop, she stopped her midnight race. Her Felsteed reminded her of Diablillo, now long gone to the glue cauldrons. She decided not to name this one. It was spawn, like naming a fungus or toadstool. Soon he would be replaced, put to pasture. There was no point in getting attached.
She missed her father, and regretted last words, the last angry words she spoke. He went to the dust and ash with a daughter's bitter voice in his ears.She wished he were there to see what she had become, after she had been undone by the Lady. What would he think of her Felsteed, and equestrian mastery? This mount was no little girl's gelding, and she had no fear.
Her feelings of regret dissipated like candle smoke. Time to ride on.
Theme Song: Play Dead/Björk