(blank flank)
Yellow and green rays pierced the air like shallow water, and like in water, myriads of green dust particles were intertwined by the current into endless streams. The air bloomed, it smelled of spring, and leaves, and juice, and flowers, and the promise of hot and sudden happiness.
Grass and trees grew into this air, stretching out in the stream, wriggling upward in a spiral, turning yellow and vanishing then, like a yellow-green flame, leaving smoky clouds of pollen.
I also grew out of the earth. Moisture and black soil nourished my hooves, my bones rose above the soil being trees and branches, vines of veins and vessels were wrapped around them. I was covered with coat-foliage, and my coat, too, fell off and kept blooming forever.
The earth healed any wounds, but there was a burning scar on my soul.
Something felt my pain. Something has come. A light breath smelling like a living pony — the first sign of animal life.
Am I in a dream?
“Yes. And no.”
Who is here?
“I do not understand,” I said.
“This place will cease to be a dream. Later on,” She replied.
She looked directly at me with Her honey eyes. I did not notice how She was woven from the pollen mist. Emerald alicorn, as if overgrown by the spring grass. I've heard about that. The case so rare that it is considered a legend. From time to time, once in many nines of rounds, for a seriously, terminally ill pony Blue Moon comes as Green. And that means life to them.
“Are you Blue?”, I asked.
“No. And yes.”
“Are you kidding me?!” I cried maybe too loud. But I was not in the mood for jokes.
She was silent. I was silent long enough for me to realize who I was yelling at. Perhaps throwing away my only chance. Currents of green air swayed behind Her. Stars shone through them.
“I'm not really Blue. I am now a part of Blue. But then... I will no longer be a part of Blue.”
...So, it's still a dream.
“You had a question for me,” She prompted.
...I had a question?
“The pain. Right here,” a turquoise hoof pointed to my side.
Ohh... ‘When Moon asks, tell Her everything.’
So I told Her. I told Her about a flash touch of a scarlet ray on my right side that was just a pulling numbness but in a matter of cycles went to its full size like a pulsing tree of pain. How friends came to console me. Then they stopped coming. I asked them to stop myself.
“Blue's Heralds are unable to help you.”
“I know! It's you! These are your Heralds!”
“Not mine. Blue Moon is not quite the one who can help you, I am the one who can,” She was unsure, and I heard it, but Her voice promised to try — try and maybe succeed, as life always does.
“If you can, I don't care. I want to live, you know?” I almost cried.
“To live,” She repeated.
This word sounded as if it was simultaneously uttered by a crowd of ponies numbering cubic nines of different voices, and each voice put their own, personal meaning and understanding. The green mist swirled in dark swirls like seaweed in the ocean. A gentle yellow flame tickled my side and disappeared.
“I helped you. You will live. There is a destiny for you to become my Herald, but you will have a few choices among the way. I hope you will remember it, in time” She spoke, quiet and powerful, as a sprout which knows where the sky is, and looks for it.
"I ... what, I— I am Herald? But I can't, I’m just too young… But if you say so…” I staggered in reply
“You are not yet my Herald. I am... you see... not yet. But one cycle... one cycle I will be.”
She will be! Golden light came out of Her eyes again. It warmed the coat like the first cycle of an infinitely long gentle summer. She will be! And it will be a miracle.
“And then you will be my Herald, If you so choose,” She concluded.
I saw it. I forgot it.
“Wake up.”
Three cycles later, Blue Moon visited me for the first time.