"By the sweat of my brow and the strength of my blood, I gift this humble offering to the almighty in the hopes of blessings and safety. I ask for guidance and reassurance from my ancestors that preside in the life after life, whom watch both kin and god, and that they will be at peace knowing I have followed in the hoofsteps. Deliver me from the evil that I walk, for my name is Hawkeye."
Whispering the prayer to the skinned weasel, the mare named Hawkeye hoped that it would be enough. The hare she had rendered had been taken, and so she left the lengthy varmint in its place knowing that a god would be by soon to swoop up the meat.
Upon her return to the enormous ruin, she chose not to relight the fire. Her energy had been exhausted. Skinning the weasel, skimming water, and scrubbing blood had all taken the day away. Shutting herself within her dreary quarters, Hawkeye barricaded the door and pulled her saddlebags onto the bed. The foam within was tearing with every movement she made, though she paid it no mind.
Her focus was on her belongings, the few she had managed to gather from her old home with the remnants of kin. Though she ached to have everything returned to her, she pined for the blood of her kin more. As tears fell into the tanned bag, she pulled a doll from the innards. It was the last reminder she had of her mother, a pink mare with a light blue mane. It didn't resemble any of the ponies within the kin's cave, but Hawkeye cherished it.
Putting the doll beside the sack, she then pulled a small satchel from within. It did not jingle until she undid the string, releasing the metal coins onto the bed. Gathered over the years and hidden from the other kin, she had heard the circular metal was referred to as bits by the ancients. Though no one had answers as to why the ancestors held favor for such things, she held on to any that could be found.
Only one other kin had ever given her a bit. He had tanned and sewn the satchel for her to carry them, just as he had given her a canteen with his emblem. The stallion had never answered from where he had gotten them. For her duties, Hawkeye often scouted the world around the remnants of kin. Entering the ruins was taboo, but only if she was caught, and she had never been. The stallion, however, stayed within their cavernous home, tanning hides brought back and creating clothes smothered with earthen scents. She often wondered how he had managed such a thing. Had another scout entered some old ruins or discovered a smothered treasury? Had there been others who would voice against such ruins being taboo?
It didn't matter now. Her only company was tears, though it would not be that way forever.
Stuffing the coins back into the satchel, the mare returned all of her belongings to the saddlebag. She included the book she had taken, though she would never be able to read its words. The cover was enough to entice her imagination, sparking a creative flow that she had never known.
Pulling down the white cloth that covered her muzzle, she wiped her nose with the back of her gloved hoof. Tears stained the hide and the bag, but she knew they would fade.
Her loneliness would fade too, though her grief would always be with her. For her home, for the kin that had been in her life since her conception, and especially for the stallion who had given her so much. He would be kept in her heart forever, for he was far more unique. Her only regret was that he would never see the foal she would bear soon enough.