Her poise is perfect. Silhouetted against the rising sun, standing regally at the top of the ridge line, she scans the valley below. She is searching for the weary souls; ragged, sun scorched, and thirsty pilgrims who have suffered for their trials, who have sacrificed much to enter into this valley of the shadow of death. A gentle wind plays with errant tendrils of her hair. Her eyes need not face the sun to shine; they possess a light of their own.
She sees one. An archaic and skeletal creature crawling slowly over the dry earth. Long since sapped of it's endurance, long since divested of it's humanity, all the withered one has left is courage and dedication. It has made it deep into the valley. She knows that once it must have had great strength. Herculean strength. Such a one is worthy of her touch.
She has grace and speed. She cuts an incendiary trail down into the valley, so quick that she seems to float, effortlessly, over the cracked earth. The broken one is surprised to see her there, astounded by her amaranthine beauty, overtaken and overwhelmed by the supernatural aura with which she is cloaked, the Aegis of Pallas Athene. The creature tries to give voice to words, a greeting perhaps, but that which issues forth from it's parched mouth is a guttural croak, a premonition of death's rattle.
The luminous one draws forth a skin and tips it towards chapped lips. Heavenly comfort blossoms in an aged, aching heart. Fallow lands regain their fertility. The wasteland transforms into paradise. The wizened creature now sits upright, marveling at the long sought clandestine truths which open up before it. Flesh and form return to those brittle bones, revealing that she is the daughter of the dawn. She possesses a stunning beauty of her own. She stands, she joins her luminous sister, and the mantle of prestige is shared between them. They depart the valley. As they go the luster of the land fades, and the earth is once again held hostage by the shadow of death.
They climb to the ridge. The sun, high overhead, is no discomfort to them. They wait, watching for wayfarers, refugees of Dystopia, the uncommon anomalies and castaways who have a predilection to revaluation, towards a higher way. They wait for the signs of strength.
