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Shifters.... Ash didn't have an issue with them usually, as he tended to steer clear of them if possible. However, he wouldn't have thought a rabbit would have been one of them as he was under the assumption only carnivores could be shifters. HOW WRONG he had been. It had chased him and he had ran as if there was nothing holding him back, he had feared for his mortal soul. So coming across this stallion with long ears and a cotton tail had him sidestepping, ears pulled back and hooves to the ground. He wasn't unfamiliar when it came to mutants, but when you stumble across someone that reminds you of the past, your flight or fight kicks in and he was ready to fight.

The grey stallion and his silver companion were quick to guard themselves from the orange and black stallion. Neither knew what to say, but the hare approached first and cleared her throat. "Ah, hello. Can we help you?" She looked up at him with curious eyes and was prepared to dart off in a moments notice if need be, as was her stallion companion. "Yes, you do seem to be a bit on edge." He added, curious to if something was the matter and if they should be on guard as well.

Ash did a little dance has he attempted to calm down. Them speaking to him helped to soothe his fragile nerves and she let out a snort and pawed the ground. After taking a few more breaths he gave another paw of the ground with his hooves and swallowed. "I don't know if you'd believe me if I told you." Flicking his tail behind him looked around and then looked back at them. "I had a close call with a shifter last year and, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but it was a rabbit..... So, I hope you can understand why I was caught off guard...."

The grey stallion twisted his ears to watch the orange stallion as he spoke and he didn't have a whole lot to say. "I hope you don't find this odd, but what is a shifter?" The hare was unfamiliar with the term as well. "Yes, we are new to the area and are unfamiliar with this term. The name itself gives a clue to the idea of what it could be, but we will need to know more."

Ash had heard tall tales when he was but a young colt, but had never encountered one before running across the white rabbit, that would forever haunt his waking dreams. "Well, some are born and others can be cursed, but they are beasts out for the blood of others." Was he even explaining this right? "To say, they take the shape of another. Be it carnivore or herbivore. The pures, the ones born of the blood have pawed feet and usually shift into carnivores. The cursed ones have hooved feet like myself, but can turn into whatever creature it was they killed after being introduced to corpse powder... be it a rabbit, bird, wild cat..."

The grey stallion looked down at his silver companion and frowned. "Well, that doesn't sound particularly nice....." The hare shook her head in agreement.

Ash nodded, "Though, there are those that are charmed. Angeni have a way to fight against the shifters. It aligns them, gives them more of their sanity back, if they had any at all. They have more of a conscious or sometimes they're even more crazed... I can't say not all are bad, just like not all mutants or regular soquili aren't good. You get what I'm saying?" He wasn't trying to make them have an ill taste right off the get go towards a species they didn't even know.

They both nodded and understood. "We see and we understand." The grey stallion spoke on both their halves. "I am sorry that such a thing hunted you, and that we reminded you of such a time... We can't even begin to understand the horror of that, and hope to never have such a thing occur to us. But if it does, we will be better prepared because of the information that you have shared with us." The hare nodded her head. "Yes, it's almost unfathomable to think that someone such as myself could be capable of such cruelty." It was almost blasphemous.

"I'm glad that my unfortunate circumstance was able to shed some light for the two of you.... I could travel with you both for a bit if you'd like?"

"We would appreciate that, thank you." And the trio headed off.

This story takes place when Bethil and Mirthal were but foals and didn't stray far from their mother's side, back during a time their mother still liked to tell stories of her past.

On a cold autumn night, as wind whispered through the trees outside, Varda nestled her two daughters, Mirthal and Bethil, near the warmth of a crackling fire. The flickering flames cast soft, dancing shadows across the shared space, creating an atmosphere ripe for an eerie tale. Mirthal was a smidge younger that Bethil but that didn't keep them from being close, despite their differences. They never asked why they looked so different nor did they wonder about their parentage, they were simply happy with circumstance as it was. They were sisters and they were loved and cared for by their mother.

Now they were about to be scared stiff by their mother, possibly. There was yet a story their mother could tell them that had them shivering in their skins. Perhaps tonight would be the night! "What do you think she's going to tell us?" "Shhhhh. She's about to start."

"Tonight," Varda began, her voice low and mysterious, "I’m going to tell you a story that my mother once told me. A story that she swore was true. It's about a strange night she spent in the forest when she was younger, before any of us were born. She called it The Mirage in the Mist.”

Mirthal and Bethil’s eyes grew wide. They loved their mother’s stories, especially when they involved the mysterious and the supernatural. Bethil didn't think she would ever get bored or unsurprised by the tales she spun. Mirthal had hopes to be as good of a story teller one day.

Varda leaned in closer, lowering her voice to barely a whisper. “Long ago, in the Herd where your grandmother lived, people whispered about a part of the forest that was... different. They said it was haunted. That on certain nights, when the mist was thick, strange things would happen. The trees seemed to move, paths would disappear, and sometimes—just sometimes—others would see things that weren’t really there.”

Mirthal shivered and pulled a nearby blanket tighter around her, while Bethil listened intently, her gaze fixed on her mother.

“One night,” Varda continued, “your grandmother was coming back from a Herd gathering. She had stayed later than expected, and by the time she left, the mist had already begun to creep through the forest. It was thicker than she’d ever seen, blanketing the ground like ghostly smoke and swallowing the path ahead. She felt a chill in the air—not from the cold, but from something deeper, something unnatural.”

Varda paused, watching her daughters' rapt faces. "Your grandmother, being young and brave, wasn't easily frightened. But that night, she felt an unease that she couldn't shake. Every few steps, she would stop, listening to the silence. It was as though the entire forest was holding its breath, waiting."

"Did she see a ghost?" Bethil asked, eyes wide.

Varda smiled, a glimmer of mischief in her gaze. "Not a ghost, exactly. But something just as unsettling. As she moved through the mist, she thought she saw a faint glow up ahead—a soft, pulsing light, barely visible through the fog. At first, she thought it might be another herd mate with a lantern. But as she got closer, she realized the light didn’t seem to be coming from a lamp at all. It was something else. Something... alive."

Mirthal gasped, leaning closer to her sister. “What was it, Mama?”

“Well,” Varda continued, “as your grandmother approached, she noticed something strange about the light. It seemed to move with a mind of its own, weaving between the trees, almost like it was dancing. And then she saw something else, something even stranger.”

The two girls leaned forward, hardly daring to breathe.

"She saw the outline of a figure—someone standing among the trees. But it wasn’t solid. It was… wispy, almost like it was made of mist itself. She couldn’t see a face, only the silhouette of something with long, flowing hair, and limbs that seemed to reach out, as if beckoning her closer."

Bethil squeezed her sister’s hand tightly, and Varda placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Your grandmother was frightened, yes, but she was also curious. She told herself that it was probably just her imagination playing tricks on her, that it was nothing more than a trick of the light. But even so, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the figure was watching her, waiting for her to come closer."

“Did she go?” Mirthal asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Varda nodded. “She took a few cautious steps forward, keeping her eyes on the figure. But as she drew closer, something strange happened. The mist grew thicker, wrapping around her like a blanket, until she could hardly see the space in front of her face. And then... she was no longer on the path.”

The girls exchanged worried glances. Varda's voice softened, almost as if she were reliving the story herself.

"She was lost, with nothing but the mist and the strange, glowing figure for company. And that’s when she heard it—a voice, soft and sorrowful, whispering her name."

"Her name?" Bethil echoed, her voice trembling.

“Yes,” Varda replied. “The voice called her name, over and over, each time a little softer, a little sadder, like it was pleading with her. She wanted to run, but her legs felt heavy, as if the mist itself was weighing her down. She was trapped, with the voice drawing closer and closer.”

The fire crackled, casting eerie shadows across the room, and Varda’s voice dropped to a hushed tone. “In a final act of desperation, your grandmother called out, ‘Who are you? What do you want from me?’”

“What did the voice say?” Mirthal whispered, barely able to contain her fear and excitement.

Varda took a deep breath. “The voice didn’t answer her question. Instead, it simply said, ‘Come closer. Let me see you.’”

Both girls shivered, feeling as though the mysterious voice were whispering to them from the misty forest itself.

“Your grandmother knew that she shouldn’t go any closer, that she was in danger. But the voice was so mournful, so filled with longing, that she couldn’t help herself. She took one more step, then another, until she was right in front of the figure.”

“What did she see?” Bethil asked.

Varda leaned back, her eyes distant as she recalled the details of her mother’s story. “She saw a face— a mournful face, beautiful but pale, with eyes as empty as the mist around them. The figure smiled, but it was a sad, haunting smile, one that spoke of endless sorrow.”

Mirthal and Bethil held their breaths, waiting for what would happen next.

“Then the figure whispered, ‘I have waited so long to be seen.’ She reached out, and her touch was so cold, like the touch of winter itself, and your grandmother felt as though all the warmth had been drained from her body.”

“What did she do?” Mirthal asked, her voice trembling.

“She tried to pull away,” Varda replied. “But the figure held her fast, and for a moment, she thought she would be trapped there forever, lost in the mist with the figure who had been waiting all those years. And then… she heard another voice. A familiar voice.”

“A familiar voice?” Bethil asked.

“Yes,” Varda said, nodding. “She heard her mother’s voice—my grandmother—calling her name from somewhere deep in the mist. It was distant, but strong, like a lifeline cutting through the fog. She summoned all her strength and broke free from the figure’s grasp, stumbling back toward the sound of her mother’s voice.”

The girls listened, entranced, as Varda continued.

“She ran, her heart pounding, her breath coming in gasps, as the voice called her back to safety. And all the while, she could feel the figure watching her, its cold, sorrowful gaze piercing through the mist. Finally, she burst through the edge of the forest, back onto the familiar path, and when she turned to look, the figure was gone. All that remained was the mist, swirling and silent.”

Varda paused, letting the weight of the story settle over her daughters.

“And that was the last time she ever ventured into the forest at night,” Varda concluded. “She never saw the figure again, but she could never forget it—the mirage in the mist, the being who had waited so long to be seen.”

The girls sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the tale. Then Mirthal spoke, her voice filled with awe. “Do you think the being was real?”

Varda smiled. “Who’s to say? Perhaps she was a spirit, a lost soul trapped in the mist, or maybe she was just a figment of your grandmother’s imagination. But one thing is certain—some things in this world are beyond our understanding, things that hide in the shadows and only reveal themselves when the mist is thick and the night is quiet.”

Bethil shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Mama, promise me you’ll never go into the forest at night.”

Varda laughed softly. “Don’t worry, my darlings. I have no desire to meet any ghosts in the mist.” She leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to each of her daughters’ foreheads. “But remember, if you ever hear a voice calling your name from the mist, don’t answer. Some voices are better left unanswered.”

Whispering to one another they giggled and looked into the shadows that surrounded them. "Did she scare you?", "No, did she scare you?" "No." "I bet you were." "Was not." "Was too." The two bantered back and forth briefly before their voices started to grow heavy with sleep.

With that final warning, Varda blew out the candle, plunging the space into darkness, outside of the burning fire. The girls huddled close, feeling a comforting warmth in their mother’s presence as they drifted off to sleep, their minds swirling with images of misty forests and ghostly figures waiting in the shadows. "I really liked that one mom... I hope to be as good of a story teller as you one day." Mirthal said with a yawn as she snuggled closer to her sister. Bethil was already fast asleep and snoring, a wing tucked over her face, the firelight dancing across her bronze colored wings. "Maybe one day you will be." Varda said softly as she gave the two of them one last nuzzle.

Varda, once she knew the girls were asleep, stood up and moved towards the edge of the shadows and stared out into the never ending darkness. There was a chill in the air but she couldn't feel it, she recounted the memory with a faint smile. She missed her home, her parents, her family... It wasn't her children's fault that they may never know the home she knew, though she had hope that one day... one day they could go where she no longer could.

Turning she glanced back towards the fire, the two fillies sleeping next to it, and she heard it.... A voice? On the wind, low and haunting. Swiveling her ears she peered back into the darkness and wondered if perhaps the story her mother had told her was true. It sounded like her name, she swore it was... She couldn't help but smile, should she be fearful? Maybe, but it was the fact that there was perhaps some truth to the story her mother had told her, in what she had thought was an attempt to keep her from wandering around alone at night.

The voice seemed to grow closer and more urgent the more she chose to ignore it. She was born without fear, at least that's what she always told herself, it's something her mother had used to tell her and her sisters as well. Ultimately she chose to ignore it and turned back towards the flames, watching them dance across the sleeping forms of her foals.

WC: 2007