>She set it ablaze…
>A yellow glow washed over the area within seconds.
>Warm, birthed by flames, fights against the cold around her.
>What once was a collection of the past, is now coalesced into its present state – a pyre.
>Little by little, it burns away, going off to a better place; a better future.
>Since the very beginning of time, this ritual has been performed.
>However, in every other previous instance, it was done by those who were older, more knowledgeable, wiser, and greater than she could ever be.
>A random pop, and/or crackle will reverberate throughout the air every now and then.
>Smoke wafts about, though not unpleasantly, but instead, as more akin to incense that soothes ones self.
>Despite that, there is no calm whatsoever here.
>But that is how it is supposed to be, because it is all done for a simple reason – to let go, and to free one.
>For everything – great and small – must be let go at some point or another.
>When watching this ritual take place in a time before, it had a strange sort of beauty.
>Again, there is none of that here.
>Change was thrust upon her, much like this duty has been.
>What lies here now is something else entirely; a far more primordial type.
>To put simply: loss itself.
>A warm, wet bit of essence makes its way down her cheek, then falls freely to be swallowed by the snowy earth below.
>As much as she yearns to turn away, or to express /particular/ feelings, she cannot.
>To turn away would be wrong.
>To express would sap what little is left.
>All that can be done is to accept what is – to hold onto it, remember it – in its entirety.
>Once the fire dies, the embers will begin to cool.
>Once the embers fade away, only cold ash shall remain.
>Then, and only then, can she do all else she needs, or wants, to do.
>Those who have done this ritual before did it, so shall she.
>It is her duty, it is in her blood, forever eternal as the stars themselves.

>Standing here, waiting, watching as the pyre burns, Crystal Rose can only let her mind float like a feather on the wind.
>Despite the warm clothes worn, cold air still manages to nip at her amber coat.
>Perhaps it is not the cold that bites, but the spirits themselves who bite.
>She would not doubt it, not even for a second.
>After all, the spirits can be cruel, especially to those who deserve it.
>Being apart of all things – this world and the next – they do whatever/whenever they will.
>In the paleness of winter however, among the greatest spirits stands strong, absolute – death.
>Young ones fear it the most out of all other spirits.
>And why wouldn’t they? It takes, and takes, and never gives backs, or stops.
>No amount of pleas, nor any kind of bargaining can convince it otherwise.
>As such, it is taught to not fear death, but to instead, welcome it as an old friend when it arrives to claim any.
>That lesson (like many others) is supposed to be ingrained.
>In her however, it failed to take root.
>Because in truth, she knew that all within her tribe feared death just as much as the youngest do.
>So they too, failed.
>That fact always remained hidden somewhere behind their eyes, away from all others.
>Not her, though.
>The mark adorning her flank ensured that.
>A rose represents a tie between others – love and friendship.
>But unlike other flowers, hers is crystalline in appearance.
>So although she could make ties with another easier than most, she also possessed insight to what lay within.
>To the tribe, this was a blessing.
>It meant that she could help out in certain matters, and even possibly become a leader in time.
>To her however, this is a curse.
>For it lead to knowing far more than she ever wanted to know.
>Certain… truths, should remain unknown, always.
>Such memories are thankfully locked away at this time.
>That does little in the way of their mere presence, though.
>Another bit of essence departs from her once more.

>All she needed to know – everything – is laid out here before her now.
>She lacks the intensity of the flame that burns.
>She lacks the wisdom of the wood that fuels it.
>She lacks the grace of the wind that strengthens it.
>What she lacks most of all, is company.
>There on the pyre, becoming one with the ancestors, is the only other member of her tribe.
>Crystal Rose is alone.
>Everything happened so fast, without mercy, but, with reason.
>Long, long ago, before her time, when the tribe was young, they made a grave choice: casting aside the great earth mother.
>While half agreed, the other half, did not.
>Disagreements lead to conflict, a great bloody one.
>From the first stone cast, to the last body to fall, the great earth mother watched, and wept.
>The battle came to an abrupt end after some time.
>Those who survived, splintered into two groups, and went their separate ways.
>Neither side cared to learn from what had happened.
>Ignorance, arrogance, both festered.
>Thusly, a curse was placed upon them, at least, that’s what happened to her tribe.
>Many moons passed, with the curse never coming to pass, which reinforced their beliefs that they were in the right.
>But all things are paid for, in time.
>Within this very year, that payment finally came in the form of four spirits.
>The first, war, beat its mighty dreams; calling upon all those to bring conflict from inside her tribe, and from the outside.
>The second, illness, brought forth a great plague upon the land – spreading like wildfire from the plants, to the animals, and of course, to the ponies of her tribe.
>The third, winter, conjured the fiercest blizzard imaginable to strip them bare.
>The fourth and final was there all along, death, who claimed any and all.
>Young and old; strong and weak alike perished the same.
>Except for her.
>No cost seemed worth this.
>Yet, despite the cruelty of this calamity, it was entirely deserved.
>To deny one’s own parent, and to slay one’s own kin; to never learn from one’s own mistakes, that is a crime to be paid.
>It is a lesson that the tribe taught, but never learned from.
>Again, except for her.

>The fire has died down a great deal since she let her mind float on.
>In addition to what little remained of the pyre, only a little remained of the flame within herself.
>From happiness, to sadness, all of those emotions and more, have become duller, like a worn out blade.
>Although such a tool can be sharpened to be relied upon once more, there is no point.
>This blade (her), is brittle and tired.
>It should be allowed to rust away, and to finally let go at long last.
>In spite of that desire, it cannot be granted.
>Death will not claim her, for the great earth mother has deemed Crystal to remain living.
>Here in the twilight hours, her magenta eyes glitter as the same as the few seen stars within the heavens high above.
>Light, in almost all forms, is nearly gone.
>Small puffs of warm air escape from her nostrils in short bursts.
>Sounds that come from all around still make her ears swivel and twitch about.
>Her silvery mane and tail gently move in the invisible wind that gently billows occasionally.
>Somewhere, deep within herself, questions bubble to the surface.
>Why was she chosen out of all other members of her tribe?
>Was there not some pony more worthy?
>Why does she live?
>Why her?
>Why?
>Silence is the only answer that comes about.
>In the lingering void, the embers have vanished entirely, leaving only a pile of frozen ash where the pyre once stood.
>With no more heat left to resist it, the frigid air begins gnawing away at her very being.
>Even if she were to let it tear her apart, death still would not claim her.
>She would survive, suffer, and live on.
>No matter what may happen today, tomorrow, or so on, she will not fall so easily.
>But staying here in sorrow will do her no good, because in doing so, it would dishonor those who have fallen.
>Although she may be young, lesser, and without the wisdom of those older, she must move.
>Very slowly, she shifts in place.
>Some snow, or perhaps ash, falls from the clothes that cling to her small frame.

>Some noise from elsewhere shatters the silence in an instant, giving her some pause.
>It sounded so close, yet, so distant.
>As she listens carefully with her complete attention, it becomes more familiar.
>A voice.
>The one who it belongs to is gone, though.
>It doesn’t stop speaking, and several more familiar voices echo along with the first.
>The words themselves are incoherent, but, hold a meaning.
>None of it is malice however, it is something else entirely.
>Understanding settles in, and with it, she knows now what she must do, for things are clear – crystal clear.
>So with one last look to what once was, she says a silent prayer, then begins to depart away.
>Many other snowy, ashen mounds are passed by as she solemnly treads along.
>What few remaining homes still stand among the wreckage that was once the village, her village, her tribe, her home.
>She does not dwell upon them currently, for the time for that has long since passed.
>Looming over all, atop the hill, is her destination.
>The great hall.
>Unlike everything else here, it remains completely untouched.
>Whatever the reasoning for its unspoiled nature is unknown, but then again, many things are unknown.
>Snow softly crunches under her hooves with every step towards the building.
>Upon reaching the door, she pushes hard against it; letting out a small grunt in the process.
>Just as it seems as though it won’t move, it finally opens inward with a  loud creak.
>Some light from within briefly blinds her, but as it settles, her eyes linger on the space before her.
>Several candles are still alight from the last time she was here.
>A small fire gathered at the pit within the center of the room still burns as well.
>The tables and shelves still hold various items.
>This place feels frozen in time, like nothing were wrong.
>If only that were true.
>There, towards the back of the hall, is where the elders once sat, and would deliver wisdom.
>Along the wall behind there, is the history of the tribe itself.
>When she was younger, this place was so much more massive, more mysterious, than anywhere else around.
>Now here as a young mare however, the hall is smaller, simpler overall.

>An uncomfortable feeling wells up from within.
>Without another with her, it felt… wrong to be in here.
>But after all that has happened, there is no reason to deny her further entry.
>So in spite of whatever is felt, she must pass, she must.
>Summoning everything that she is, Crystal carries one leg forward for a first step.
>Once it is taken, the second comes easier, then the third, and so does the forth, too.
>The door shuts quietly behind her, and a sudden burst of warmth surges throughout, pushing her further onward.
>All of her being is drawn towards the wall at the back.
>It takes her mere seconds to reach it, though once she does, the sheer size is incredibly humbling to behold.
>Many times before in the past she has seen it, but now? It is much more different.
>Ancient, arcane writings, and many, many pictures cover it from one end, to nearly the other.
>Much time was spent carefully crafting this work of wonder, in fact, many lifetimes.
>Starting from the very beginning, is where her tribe was birthed forth from the great earth mother.
>She bestowed them with ties to the land; granting them the might and ability to tame it.
>Harmony was had for a time, where they multiplied, became fruitful, and prosperous.
>Everything was well, good, and just in the world.
>Then came the great fall – casting aside the great earth mother, which lead to the battle, which lead to the splintering…
>Her tribe lived on, traveling southward to where they are now.
>Well, where she is.
>Attempting to ignore that darkness, she turns to the final entry within the history – to what happened recently.
>Unfortunately, nothing of what has occurred can be ignored.
>So much loss.
>So much pain.
>It’s so…
>She closes her eyes to shield them from the waters that threaten to escape from within.
>Enough has been shed already – both and tears – so nothing more should be shed again.

>Her resolve strengthened, she refocuses her attention back to the history.
>Many moons have passed since the split, but the other half of the tribe must still remain back in the northern lands.
>Are they even alive, or have they, too, fallen like hers has?
>Even if they still exist, would they accept her?
>It is taught that grievances can be forgiven in time.
>It is also taught that they can be paid for as well.
>So to be the very last, is that not payment enough?
>Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn’t.
>The past itself cannot be changed, only learned from.
>The present is one exists currently, living in the moment.
>The future is sought after, and is what one wishes to persist through.
>She swallows down a hard gulp of air, then nods slowly.
>Certainty now reigns true inside.
>Crystal is the last, she was chosen to bear the burden of her tribe, and thusly, to reconnect with the other half of the tribe.
>The great earth mother has deemed it so.
>Because that is why she lives – to tie the two halves together once more, just as a rose symbolizes the ties that bind one another.
>Going around the village, she begins gathering what little is left: food, tools, clothes, and the such, all for the journey.
>Among the last places to visit, is her home.
>No flame burns within here, nor does a sound occur when entered.
>Coldness, not just the physical kind, but the spiritual kind, dwells in this small space.
>Despite the certainty she possesses, she does not linger here.
>Fear, or something else, hastens her gathering.
>Not a further thought is spared to her former home as she promptly leaves it, nor is any other for the rest of the homes.
>A few tasks still remain to be dealt with before the journey can begin.
>The first, a message is carved out in the large ancient oak tree at the heart of the village.
>Whomever else arrives here needs to know of what once was this place.
>The second, and third task lay within the great hall itself.
>Unlike before, the door opens far easier this time.

>Yet now, no longer does the fire burn in the pit; only a smoldering pile remain.
>Almost all of this place is dark, quiet even.
>But there, a last flame still burns – a single solitary candle.
>With its aid, and with a piece of bark, she makes a rough map for where the other tribe may be.
>Almost everything is ready, save for one minor thing.
>Crystal’s gaze falls upon the candle again, though now, this small light holds her attention captive.
>Much like her, this is the last of its kind here.
>And just the same, it too, must go.
>Closing her eyes, one final set of prayers are uttered – one of thanks, protection, guidance, and lastly, what she needs most of all.
>Hope.
>May whatever follows after this, bring about a peace.
>Her vision is set upon the last small flickering flame once more.
“Farewell.”
>She blew out the candle.