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At first it seems as though nothing has changed. And then you realize: the phantom wind is a real wind, stirring your fur. It blows harder and harder until you are pushed inexorably back towards the stone, and then into it. If you are not a Legendary, there is no pain this time, but there is definite and sudden blackness, and a lingering moment of consciousness before you sleep, heavily. If you are a Legendary, you are swallowed up in the memory of a foal in the sac or the egg or the womb, until you forget who you are.
For an age it seemed, he rested beside the tower. His body was idle but his thoughts were not. Here with nothing to distract him, all he had to do was think, so The Killing Moon worked backwards through his thoughts. His mind first settled on where had been; a part of the Swamp so close to the edge that he had begun to wonder how long it would take for the ache to set in. In a strange way, he had been looking forward to the sensation. It would mean his journey was finally achieving something. Once he felt it, he would be able to change directions and head for the sea. With each day that passed by he had thought less of home. A soft longing was always in his heart and he knew eventually it would drag him back to where he belonged, but there were some days that he didn’t even think of his family at all. All there was was his eaglehound and his wolf and the jellyfish and himself. They had there own little perfect universe with endless space to explore.
He mind travelled further, to when every moment away from his family had been agony. Even with his decision made, he had still lingered just days away from them. He had devoted time and energy to thankless tasks simply for that familiar feel of hard work. Every day he asked himself why he had left and if it had truly been necessary. But it had been and they understood and so he had continued on.
The wind rustled a lock of his hair, sweeping it gently off his cheek.
He didn’t notice.
Instead he was thinking of his family. Properly this time. Not just in passing thought, but remembering Left’s smile and Beloved’s laugh, Run with her quick wit and Best with his bravado. They belonged to him. His heart beat in time with all of theirs no matter how far away.
It was with a sigh that he finally unlocked the last thought and the most painful; his children. Three sacs just born, probably growing quickly now, walking and talking and learning. What did they think of him? What did they look like? Would leaving them so early become his greatest regret? Family was what he lived for and he had left his behind.
The wind shifted more hair and ruffled through his fur.
The Killing Moon frowned and opened his eyes. With a grunt he rose to his hooves and stood poised before the stone, staring out at the vast empty land. The wind wailed around him, urging him back but he stood his ground.
He braced himself, head up and his gaze full of challenge.
And the wind accepted.
It grew stronger and stronger with each moment, until his head was bowed towards it and each muscle strained desperately not to be thrown back.
One step and he gave ground.
Two steps and he bellowed out a wordless cry of refusal.
Then the final gust, the tipping point, and his strength failed.
The Killing Moon stumbled and fell backwards. He expected to hit the painful hardness of the stone tower but it never came. Instead there was darkness, sudden and absolute. There was a brief panicked struggle from the buck, a flailing of limbs that did nothing. A perfect vision of three sacs filled his mind.
Let me see them again just once, he pleaded to the darkness before sleep overwhelmed him.