It was an unwelcome change that had to be ended swiftly as it came. Almost insidiously it started. At first, it was like the white blooms in the morning with clear dew- innocuous and even fun. But then expectations and patterns were established and Doom felt suffocated, cornered at each turn. She withdrew from her core and battled with issues of identity, the future and past dependent on the path she would take next. Insatiable curiosity found her at the tipping point of insanity before she found the star lanes that would lead her to the path of Ascension. She fell out of the skies a Mare in the shape of a hornet, and reveled at the expanse of land she could travel now. The fire and talking of minds was a great boon, too. Who knew the MotherFather could be so accommodating?
And when the sun followed the moon and the seasons changed, Doom found herself at another cliff of discontent. Still she avoided her family, and slept for longer periods of time. It was during one of these restless sleep that the dream came.
Endless monotony provided the grey backdrop where the sleep was ok, the fishing was good and the water, sweet. She dreamed of cooling blood puddles and tiny pricks. The buzzing of wings and skin tight from too much growth. After fishing for a spell, she stood to admire the bycatch the swamp offered and stared while one twitched. It would lie still for a few breaths before attempting to escape once more. Neat little thing would not stay dead. It twitched and buckled its way to the edge, too close for comfort. Prey should be obedient. She lunged and felt the swamp shift perspective as her eyesight sharpened, the colors crisper and sharper, and everything else fell away. She knew this adrenaline rush, its flavors intimate and bold. Her eyes caught on the escaping prey, a remote part of her brain remarked on the oddness of her strike; she was head first not rump-leading.
She glided through the air, cutting it and remarked at the ease of doing so. Her mouth sought purchase in the form of an audible cry, gasp of amazement and clack of hard beak. Strong wings propelled her back, the air noticeably shifting and unfurling nearby dry foliage. A piercing screech, she caught her prey and slammed it into the ground, that satisfying crack.
She pumped her wings and peered at the water below. Her form was stout, strong and center-weighted. No one would mistake her for a dainty bird. Power radiated from her core down to the unforgiving talons. If bears could smile, they would. She dreamed a fabulous dream and for the first time in seasons, woke smiling.