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Mountains beneath me are nothing but a blur, blending together as I fly by them. I dip every now and then, dare myself to fold my wings and drop. Like a phoenix rising from its ashes I fling my wings apart and shoot upwards, back into the sky, back into the sunlight that scorches my fur and feathers.
I dare not gaze into the sun. Its searing heat on my weightless body alone was enough to make me feel sleepless, yet dreaming.
Ah, but what do I even speak about? I am but a simple Pegasus, soaring fast through the air, piercing the winds and sending shockwaves of dust and debris every now and then from my "fall and flight phoenix" technique.
'Twas fitting, for 'tis that I gained my cutie mark from. A red hot phoenix burning up from its ashes. Though some see my mark as a bad omen. They see it as the phoenix dying, its body turning to nothing but ash, never to rise again.
Ironic, they say, the thing that keeps the phoenix going is the very same thing that will end its existence, snuff out its immortality.
For I am not immortal, I reply to these naysayers. So what do I have to fear?
What else could that cursed mark mean? They demand so much of me.
Everyponys cutie mark is both a blessing and a curse.
It decides your strengths, your destiny, your very reason to live to exist.
'Tis a stamp on your flank that tells everypony and everypony who you are and what you do, what you will do.
All that you are and all that you will be.
Confined to a form of a cute little tattoo magically appearing on ones flank the moment they find out and realize who they truly are and their gift. Their special talent.
My hooves graze a bit of rock. I motion my wings to fly upwards but that slip up was enough to send me stumbling down the mountain side.
Gray feathers flutter and spin in the air as my wings take damage. Gray fur and body catch on sharp rocks and the gravel of the mountain and scrape and scratch, revealing wiring and machinery underneath it all. Amber eyes flutter and muzzle scrunches, I attempt to both cover my face and stop what feels like an endless, heavy fall. Completely opposite to what I was feeling only moments ago in the air.
With a loud, resounding thud and a bit of a crunch of my now broken wing I slump down to a grinding halt.
I brush rocks and debris out from my dark fur and sunset colored mane. I try to flare my wings out, only to get a painful reminder that at least one was broken, and the other wouldn't be ready to set flight soon either. Can't fly with only one wing. Unless you're an Alicorn mayhaps.
In the distance, yet not too far away, I spot a tiny, peculiar village. Its houses were set parallel to each other, all except the one at the top end, which faced towards the center.
I rustle my feathers and shake off the remaining dirt and dust and heave a sigh.
Tis would seem I had a long walk ahead of me. Hopefully the ponies in that village had some bandages and mayhaps, if I got lucky, some painkillers as well.
My muzzle forms the smallest, weary smile at that thought.
Yes. Some pain killers to sleep the pain and crash and burn away.
It appears those old crones back at home were right.
I really was destined to crash and burn, just as a phoenix, forever.
Fitting, if 'tis not then my name 'tis not "Shadow Phoenix".