and more by more they dream their sleep

More than she truly was a sun-being, Olive was a nocturnal creature. The moon ruled over her as a grandmother would watch over her grandchild, gently coaxing the ignorant, little thing in the direction it needed to go. It was only ever glimpsed at night, and the magic of the moon's light was only available during the night's highest hour. Normally, when she would venture out in the lateness of the evening, the moon would already cast its milky glow upon the earth, swathing her in its tender embrace — but these nights the moonglow fell in wisps and was easily swallowed by the darkness. A new moon would occur in just a few days, heralding a further cyclical change into autumn. An auspicious time, indeed.

It was during these monthly events, when everything was entirely obscured by night's darkness, that the gods spoke the loudest. Without the moon commanding alls' attention, the forces and voices danced. It did not happen without ritual, and for that, one needed ceremonial supplies. So sheltered in The Hireath was she, that when the shrouded woman climbed up to the plateau of the plains, she was both surprised by the progression of the moon's waning as well as her complete lack of preparation. The little witch set to work, walking amongst the prairie grasses, following her intuition, so that her divine impulses might lead her to whatever oddity or sacrifice might be needed of her. There were many questions she desired to have answered, mostly regarding the harsh treatment of the prisoner in Little Haven's care. She trusted the gods would have much to say on the matter.

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Medaris was not a kind woman. She did not like to be woken in her sleep, she did not like to be roused. When she was, by the movement of a wolf, no less, she panicked for half a moment.

The mare had slept standing up with her head down, and so in waking to the sound and smell of a canine, she stomped her hooves on the ground instinctively to ward the predator off while still only half-awake. Shaking her great head, she snorted angrily and began wandering at a walk toward the dumb-witted beast. The horse did not notice the glorious moon, the calm night air, nor the peaceful expression on said beast's face. Rather, she only noticed her own complete ruin of a sleep. “The fuck are you doing.” It was not really a question, but rather an odd, rude statement, perhaps given by one whom had "woken on the wrong side" so to speak.

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Generally, the night was a restful time, even for those who did not sleep. Any sleep she renounced during the twilight hours she regained during the day, and the moonlight always had such a cooling, restorative effect that juxtaposed the intense warmth of the sun. The sylph was nourished by it — but that could not account for other, more diurnal creatures. Especially grumpy ones, who didn't appreciate incidentally being awoken.

When the irate mare came upon her, Olive's immediate response was a mix of awe and surprise. She didn't oft come across this type of hooved creature; one that was so far outside of her capability to bring down. Her inability to consider it prey freed up her mindspace to be fascinated by the bony, flowing thing, despite how harshly it regarded her. The tiny woman did not consider any risk to her safety, although it was certainly there. Instead, Olive focused on closing her mouth, sealing her lips for a moment, and regaining her focus. What had she been doing? "I mean no harm," she began, wondering if a friendly disposition might soften the hairy introduction. "I'm foraging for a ceremony." but, suddenly, that seemed so much less important.

"...what are you doing?" she chimed, not unkindly. More, it was meant as a simple, true question — the way she had begun to figure it, the horse had come upon Olive, in Olive's own homelands. She had every right to forage in this place, but she would do her best to respect the wishes of such a majestic, magical creature.

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Oh it was all very sweet and pathetic. Wolves were such assholes. I mean no harm, as though she might offer harm to her, ever. Ridiculous. Wolves were formidable opponents, to be sure, but few would dare mess with a healthy, fully-grown horse. They had been built for distance. Muscle dominated their bodies. It would have been suicidal for such an animal to even attempt to attack her at night.

Of course, packs were another matter. She ignored that.

“What the fuck do wolves have ceremonies for?” She asked, ignoring the question, because it was a stupid question. She was sleeping. Now, she was not. These canines really were thick-skulled, weren't they? Oh well. Perhaps she could learn some random tidbits from this "peaceful" little wolf. She snorted, keeping her head high even though her eyes were still blurry from slumber.

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It was not difficult to scry how inane the horse considered this all to be. The Olive of a previous life might have shrunk and become embarrassed at how her holy sacrament was now encumbered with a glorious pegasus's disdain, but the Olive of this life understood that this was usually the reaction of those who did not understand, and did not want to understand. It did not bother the little witch, as it was not her soul that was suffering.

"It's for the turn of the moon," the waifish woman explained, since the horse had asked, after all — but she energetically steeled herself, as she entirely expected this concept to be immediately shot down. However, there was also a chance that such a fanciful idea might be entertained; did not every species look upon the same moon? "It's not just wolves," she offered. "I'm certain your kind has a custom befitting the dark moon, no?"

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The "turn" of the moon? The light in the sky changed every so often, that was true. It was one of the easiest ways to measure time apart from the change in seasons. Medaris snorted, tossing her head and looking toward the ball in the sky. Stars wheeled overhead. It was a pretty sight, but one that had become mundane and dull to a horse that had been woken from sleeping.

At the question, the mare flared her nostrils, blowing a bit of snot out at the ground. She thought for a moment. Did the mustangs of the great herds have such Moon Customs? She was aware of none. It was no more than a measurement of time.

“No. The moon's just a way to tell how long it's been. When it goes away, it's been a fucking while.” She stamped her foot, like the noise made her point the truth. “Must be nice to believe in nonsense. Your world's a peach,” she spat, almost jealously.

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Oh, now this was a dialogue that Olive could engage with! Even if her partner firmly held onto their disbelief and spoke condescendingly, there was nothing Olive loved more than to debate the nature of metaphysics. "You and I speak of the same thing, sister." she said with a smile, wondering if the beautiful pegasus before her would open her mind to the concept, or would similarly, proverbially, spit upon it. "Time is the thing that is most sacred, above all else." It was to be respected and revered, as it was a force in the world that could not be changed or moved by any mortal means. "That is what I celebrate with my ceremonies, and what I seek guidance on." Olive pointed her nose upwards, hoping to catch a glimpse of the horse's face, which towered so far above her. She tried to assess if she would receive more scorn despite her efforts (likely), but felt there was one thing left to explain. "It is the only way to feel alright and at peace in this world, where result of time is... only death." This was the reality that all living things battled with, and belied every single one of their instinctive impulses. Some lingered in the sadness of their eventual demise, as she suspected this horse of doing, but Olive found it was easier for her to transmute this sadness and dread into ceremony and reverence.

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 Quite immediately, the token "sister" that the other use offended the horse. They were not sisters. She was predator. Medaris was her would-be quarry. Though Medaris had never seen young from her herd preyed upon by wolves, she believed they were capable. Wolves must be as brutal as the coyotes they looked like. Horses had heard stories, though none of them had seen a wolf until now.
 While the little predator spoke, Medaris sneered. She partially listened. It seemed great to believe in such bizarre bullshit. Maybe horses did do. Maybe there were herds who also believed in garbage to get through the fucking day. Medaris did not. Medaris believed in herself, in capable others, and in forcing change. That was it. In her view, she lived in a microcosm of bullshit, and that was something that this little wolf would never see.
 “That's nice,” she answered, cryptically. “You're fucking wrong though. It's not the only way to feel "all right"” she hissed, stamping her foot. “You could kill me right now. You wouldn't, and you couldn't, but say you did.”
 She kept stamping her foot, only now she was dragging it, like she was about to charge.
 “Death is inevitable. My solace is in knowing my body is worth more than yours.”

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The tone of the interaction was carefully shifting. It had been clear from the beginning that the horse did not share her beliefs and openly disdained them, and for the most part, Olive was fine with these types of things. These sorts of interactions happened very often, when the gods saw fit to throw dour individuals in her path. A hopeless, victim mentality didn't mesh well with spirituality, Olive found. Honestly, the witch believed these individuals to be quite jealous of her, and how she had been touched by the gods.

However, as the horse began to paw at the ground in a manner that Olive read as threatening, Olive felt her goodwill immediately begin to wane. Without meaning to, she lapsed into the role her body forced her to play, that the horse seemed to want her to play: predator. "If I called my pack here and now," she spoke, her voice sounding different, more guttural. "we could run you down and rip your flesh from bone—" because that was what she, a wolf, was born to do, "We'd eat you and shit you out, and your magnificent body would be worth nothing more than fertilizer." She didn't believe for a second that this creature didn't harbor a healthy fear of death, and that it wouldn't fight for its every dying breath. Absolutely no one wanted to meet that end, unless prey animals had hopelessly resigned themselves. "That's what will happen to you, and probably all of your children, and that's absolutely horrifying." Olive couldn't help the pitted disgust that crept into her voice, knowing that she would never, ever meet that type of end. It was below wolfkind.

"That's the reality you have to live with, just as I have my own." the woman sneered, crouched, ready to move should the horse retaliate, hooves-against-words. "Live with it, in any way you can." but instead of continuing to steep in poison, the small woman pounced away, and ran off into the night.

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