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Everything hurts.

I can feel burns running down my wing and flank where the blast knocked me from the path. I’m fairly certain the cart hit me and knocked me unconscious from the pounding in my head and the broken hoof I had to dig out from under its wreckage. I managed to salvage what I could from the burned goods and load them into my satchel, and luckily you and the quill were among them. Although you didn’t escape without scars either it seems.

I’m managing to limp down the road towards the Bastion, if you can even call it that anymore. The dirt strip through dense trees is now a gouge of burnt dirt and smoldering foliage. The smoke burns my eyes and lungs with every blink and breath.

I can see flashes of light through the haze, and hear the occasional rumble of distant explosions. I must’ve been out for a while, the Empire must’ve marched right on by or assumed I was dead. If they even knew I was there.

If it hadn’t been for the insanity of the last two days, the thought of the Empire glassing a large stretch of forest for a clear marching path would have made me laugh. Now it makes me feel a cold fear despite the fires crackling and radiating the warmth of the Sun out to all near it. There is definitely someone powerful at the front, maybe not Celestia herself but a general of some kind. Someone who has the blessing of the Sun on their side, solar flames have a distinct heat and brilliance to them. I use a crystalized version of it to run the ovens back home.

Every step is agony, but I need to make it back. There are bound to be wounded on both sides, hopefully no one has died. With the Cursed and Undead among the ranks, these solar flames are going to do a lot more damage than their wielder might think. Hopefully the other medics are on full alert.

I’ve got maybe another hour of walking, and it may permanently destroy my hoof but I may need to run if there are guards along the route. Celestia may know my intentions, but it’s likely the soldiers just know me as a traitor given how word spreads among the ranks. If they’ll do this to a forest standing in their way, I don’t want to begin to think of my fate if I am caught. Noble or not, I’d likely face the blade for my “crime.”

Survival first, worrying about things not yet to pass later.

-Diary of Countess Sweet Bun. Entry 177. Hour 50 of the War.