The rain didn’t just fall in the Lowlands; it claimed the earth, turning the valley into a silver-grey mirror. For Elara, the sound of the downpour against the stable’s tin roof was the only song she’d known since the Fever took the village.
She stood at the stall of , a mare whose coat was the color of a bruised plum—dark, deep, and shimmering with an iridescent violet in the right light. Omitome wasn't a plow horse or a racer. She was a "Four-Stepper," one of the rare beasts rumored to be able to walk between the layers of the world. Omitome_-_Girl_with_Horse_-_1-to-4_.zip
"Two for the mist," Elara continued, swinging herself up. The horse’s muscles bunched like coiled springs. The villagers called this madness. No one crossed the Weeping Woods during the Great Deluge, but Elara’s brother was burning up in the loft, and the medicine sat three valleys away in the hands of a hermit who didn't take visitors. "Three for the shadow." The rain didn’t just fall in the Lowlands;
"Four for the soul," Elara choked out, her voice echoing in a place with no wind. Omitome wasn't a plow horse or a racer
Elara leaned low over Omitome’s neck. "Faster, girl. We’re almost out of time."
"One for the mud," Elara whispered, tightening the cinch of the worn leather saddle. Omitome let out a low, vibrating huff.
Omitome’s hooves stopped splashing. Instead, they struck the air with the ring of a hammer on an anvil. They were rising, not into the sky, but into the Thinning . Elara gripped the mane, her knuckles white. She could see the village below, frozen like a fly in amber, every raindrop suspended in mid-air.