The season of renewal had come, at least it was trying to appear. There were signs everywhere. The world was becoming green again, with fine young grasses and the occasional tiny flower peeking through.

Wilwarindëa had decided to venture from her usual paths because they had all become muddy and gross with the spring thaw and her repetitive use of them. She was clean and she wanted to stay that way. She also wanted to see what tiny flowers she could spot. She loved seeing the new fresh flowers and trying to see if she could spot a new one she had never seen before.

She made her way down the path, the small grasses soft under her hooves and lovely to walk on. There were only a few places along the path she had chosen that were looking too damp for her.

That was until the path started to dip downwards. The water had collected lower and it didn't look like the sun quite reached this place to dry it out. Her tail lifted a bit as she stopped to glare at the problem. Eying it over critically, her ears back as she snorted low. The sound carried outwards from her. Of course she would run into something like this when the walk had been so nice.

Lifting her hoof, she tested a few places. Trying to see if there was a place she could step across. But it was quite clear if she didn't want slimy hooves she was going to have to leap across it.

A deep sigh left her.

Well…

She looked across, looking to see where it looked like it might be dryer. Wilwarindëa then lined herself up, muscles bunching and quivering. Gathering her hooves beneath her as she sized up the other side and the distance. There was a spot near some early ivy and ferns she hoped the plants would have either soaked up the moisture or at the very least would provide a dry spot for her to land.

With a shove the bay mare was airborne. The time she was in the air and panicking about landing in the slush feeling as if it was both infinite and over far too soon. Her hooves found the soft ground again. Her weight pushed her down and she immediately danced up the hill. Turning sideways to give the mess a good long side eye.

Suddenly there was an unexpectedly hard thing under her hoof and she gasped, moving back down a few paces. Her head flexing around to stare, tail arches up as she sniffed towards the stone that had been hidden by the foliage.

Her look going from embarrassed because a mere stone had startled her, to mildly annoyed because a mere stone had startled her, back to alarmed again as she saw a see-through horse that rose up from a crack where it had formed from the sudden pressure of her weight.

Her snort this time sounded more like a frightened deer. Her eyes opened large and wild as small twitching trembles raced across her body. Torn between bolting, and staying very still. Not sure what would happen to her, if the see-through horse touched her.

A knicker slid out of her unbidden as a horse creature started to weep. Wilwarindëa realized that it was looking at the crack in the stone, and her ears tilted back. Feeling a little bit guilty amongst her uncertainty. She had damaged what clearly was this horse's final resting place. She looked quickly past it, trying to focus further off, seeing more places that were densely foliaged. And she had to assume, there was probably more stones under there. Had she stumbled across a graveyard?

She looked back when the weeping got louder, taking a small step back again. Giving a little paw at the ground. Before she felt another squelch and grimaced. Then the spirit turned towards her and started begging for her to fix her Stone. She shook her head, she didn't have any ability to fix a stone.

Wilwarindëa move closer to the stone by circling to the side away from the spirit. Trying to get a closer look. She lowered her head, and used her horns to push some of the weeds away.

The crack wasn't bad. It wasn't good, either, but it wasn't the full splintering she had feared when she'd heard that that and learned what it had been from. A single line ran through the stone from one edge almost to the center. Thankfully it has not separated much or pulled apart, but the constant weeping from the spirit was not helping her to think.

She lifted her head to look at the Spirit, which was somewhat difficult with its partially see through, shifting most like appearance. It was like trying to hold her eyes on something that didn't want to be seen. Which Wilwarindëa found to be unnerving, like looking at a predator. She blinked hard, trying to clear her vision. Wondering if some goop got into her eyes and obstructed her vision.

“I didn't mean to.” she told the Spirit in an effort to try and get it to settle down. And it was true, she hadn't meant to damage anyone's grave. She just wanted to avoid the muck. But mainly she wasn't sure what else to say. How did you even begin to apologize for something like this? The spirit didn't seem to be listening to her anyway, nor were they particularly interested in her intentions.

Wilwarindëa looked back at the stone, before her gaze slid around again in thought. It creeped and draped over everything here where the sunlight probably didn't reach too much. She thought about the ivy and the ferns that she had landed near. The way they kept the footing dry had been what had drawn her to them but she was sure underneath them was still dark and damp.

She wondered if bring dark and damp had made the stone easier to crack, it had certainly made it harder to see and therefore easier to step on.

Snorting low, she began to work.

It wasn't elegant. She used her horns to scrape back the mat of ivy in long awkward motions. The wet stems catching and releasing with wet tearing sounds that almost had her quitting on the spot. She nosed the loose debris aside, hoof pawing carefully when she needed to clear a larger bit, trying very hard to step on any other stones that might be around this one. The work was slow and despite her best efforts she was sure she was getting dirty. She made a low, disgruntled noise about it, directing it and her glare right at the damp spot that has caused all this

But gradually the light reached the place where she had been cleaning. It was just a small bit of light, a single beam really that was a bit broken by the above foliage but it was still pretty and warm. The ground around the stone has begun to look less like something that had been forgotten. The weeping had gone quieter, she wasn't even sure when that had happened.

Wilwarindëa glanced sideways at the Spirit again with one cautious eye. “I don't know how to mend stone.” she admitted. But as she watched, the Spirit wasn't looking at her. It was looking at its stone, all weeping had ceased as it stared at the dappled sun on it. But what took Wilwarindëa by surprise wasn't that the Spirit was inspecting her handiwork, but that its form appeared to be changing. The skin on her withers twitched and bunched, her tail lifting as she considered bolting at least a few feet away. Until she noticed the shape looking more horse-like.

Her nose extended and she sniffed towards the Spirit. Smelling the faintest hint of warm horse and a spring breeze. Before she pulled back as the Spirit seemed to give a grateful nod to her. Suddenly feeling awkward and not sure what to do. But as the Spirit walked away, pausing to look back once, then again in just a few steps she started to feel like it wanted her to follow. She hesitated a bit, wondering if she was about to be snatched away or something worse. But slowly started to follow. Being careful not to step on any more stones. Seeing a few as she picked her way through.

She slowed as the horse stopped, then moved up beside and looked down. Seeing tiny little purple-y blue flowers littered all over the ground in another patch of light. She looked up to say thank you only to see the spirit fading away and to smell that warm spring scent of horse and a cool breeze again, despite not feeling a breeze right then. It was so familiar, it reminded her of being a young Veilhorn when she was little. She nickered quietly as they faded fully from sight. Before leaning down to finally smell the flowers.