Here slow and sluggishly twisting through the woods, there, white foam frothing over sharp rocks,
still further on, spilling over the banks, destroying, healing,
flowing freely.

It's so quiet now...All the passion is gone, all the love between two old friends, all because they stayed too long in a bond neither one had felt.
The pain hurt worse now than what it would have if they had simply admitted to one another that there was nothing between them when they'd first realized it...
Still waiting to be born, the young Acha buck observed this sorrow, and knew that he was to never fall prey to the trap of fear of Harm Undone.

All was quiet in this dreamland. A young foal could wander this place forever, unless properly motivated to life, to Waking. The young foal was content here, even though there were no others in this place.
Snap.
The foal's head came up, her ears pressed forward as she peered into the woods, having heard a noise she'd never heard before, like a cracking, a breaking, something fragile.
SNAP.
There it was again! Curiosity bade the foal rise, and walk towards the strange sound, and so she did.
SNAP!
She found an empty clearing, and stepped into it...
SNAP!
Startled by the noise, of how loud it was, the foal looked down at her own hooves, stepping back off of the noise-maker.
Such a small Twig... But so much noise. The foal startled to giggle, and knew her dreaming time was over, knew it was time to Wake. But she was curious as to what made the noise before she broke the twig...Oh well, she could feel sleep leaving her now.

Who can speak but lies, who can tempt the temptress, who can tell only soul-bound truths?
Who can be cruel and comforting, gentle, yet deadly, wicked, but sweet?
What could be so mismatched, so confusing, so... unreal?
Who could understand these twisted paths, these meandering roads? Who can speak of a Dream's Desires?

It was cold. It had
no form, it lingered on the
edge of the mind, it
clung to each thought, a ghost of memory
that never passed the lips,
those green eyes, that lopsided quirk of the corners, the lazy carelessness...
His 'cruelty' was only to be kind,
a sickness in his mind
that made him leave them all behind...

A tempting view at the end of a

trail, a lovely wonderland so
close,

so far.

Left hoof right hoof, one after the other down the Path to Madness, chasing her own tail, the feathers on the wind, the leaves dancing, a white rabbit down the hole.

How do thoughts move in ones mind?
They can be quick, direct.
Slow, wandering.
Dreams drift in and out, sometimes stuttering
as one almost wakes, shifting
in Sleep.
They twist on themselves, folding
over and over again, a silken
cocoon wrapped around the mind,
woven into a tight, suffocating blanket...

A flutter of wings, a flurry of feathers overhead.
It'd caught her attention, and she longed to go with them.
Her body was shaped wrong, but maybe that didn't matter...

It started with a hop. Then a leap, a peal of laughter, a tittered giggle.
Kicking the sand up with her hooves as she leapt as high as she could,
following the birds as close as possible.
A song in her ears, hope in her eyes.
Just needed a wing and a prayer, she was so sure...
Someday soon, she'd be able to
Soar.

Vast, unending. It sprawls before the foal's eyes, going far beyond even his far-flung gaze. No matter how far he wanders, he can never find an end to this Expanse...

What in this world can be owned by any one Kin? Curled up in her fetal sac, the nameless foal contemplated her place in this world. She knew the dimensions of her egg, the warm press of its embrace around her fragile body, just as she knew that, soon, she would have to leave its embrace or be strangled by its love. Turning in place, shivering in her sleep, she had little knowledge of what truly lay beyond. All that she knew for certain was that her body was her own, and none could take what was truly her own.

While I was dreaming,
I came across a weeping tree-
storm-tipped, leaves bloated in the river-water.
The trunk had cracked- but now, freed of its shadow,
Fresh Shoots crept up to take its place,
their unfurling leaves whispering thanks and praise.

Tucked up within her delicate egg, the foal's eyes sealed shut
Her curious, gentle soul tasting the sweet mana of a babbling brook, the tender shoots.
The promise of the dance of sun-dapples overhead, the sunlit leaves and sweet shushing wind whispered to her- surely, that would be perfect bliss.
She would spend her life looking up from below.

In the shade of a tree, the birds whispered to me the secrets to a joyous life-
a beautiful nest, many fine loves, sweet songs, a solid bough-
the sanctuary of the bower.

A little bit of poison can be helpful. What hurts when you eat a bad thing, is often what it helps- if you know how to prepare it right.

The Lamb had known this, before even opening her eyes. Before her first staggering walk.

Knowing, and doing, was a tricky thing, though. Now many would be willing to put their lives on the line to let her learn just how little bit to use, and how much would be too much- so she took it upon herself to chew up this or that, and paid special attention to how she felt. What parts of her hurt, what felt better.

There were times when she felt she might actually perish, ended up shivering in a tight ball someplace dark to wait out a racing heart, a raving mind.

Still, she pressed on.

When sickness came to a herd she wandered with, she alone was hardy enough to keep on- and, chewing this leaf and that root, she alone stayed healthy. She made a fine paste of herbs and roots, and, to the last, bade the struggling kin to lap it up- "This will burn. It will burn, but it will purge your body." It was the warning she whispered to each of them, barely audible over the coughing, the wheezing.

She lay among them, draping her head over their backs to comfort them, bringing them water to help cool them.

To the last, they recovered- some, completely. Some, with wobbly legs. A few seemed troubled by phantoms.

Overall- a success. You could hurt a part to prevent harm.
Hurt, to Heal.