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Filly or grown, Roses was not going to turn her back on her darling Root. The mushrooms called to her- wafting scents and tempting looks- but the petite doe stayed resolute, unwilling to let herself be swain. A snack would have been lovely, but there was work to be done. This time, she would not fail her ladylove. Too often she had been foolish, looking before she leaped...

Not today. Not when Root was so young, so helpless!

Pressing through the cave, Roses continued her journey, turning her head away as best possible from the onslaught of ash. Vaguely, she wondered if she might be buried in it- lost to the world in this strange waste that fell upon her. Would Root even know? Or would she be lost, trapped in this strange dream, without her dearest knowing of her death?

A pitiful noise escaped Roses' maw, and the sound caused her to start.

Among the ashen path, there had been no sounds- but now she heard herself, harsh and overbearing after the choking silence. The doe had to pause a moment, to steady her racing heart and uneven breathing. She had not been expecting such a sudden shift in environment.

Nor, really, had she expected the thorns.

Flattening her ears, she made very certain not to brush up against the looming tunnel, unwilling to risk harming herself. Her hoofsteps were cautious, and quiet, Roses herself unwilling to tamper with this strange world she found herself in.

There was, to her left, a nasty gunk that collected upon the floors and the walls. A sort of primordial ooze that made Roses in Bloom's stomach quench, and she shrank back from the sight.

The other way seemed... safer. Lined with flowers, it almost seemed to be a pretty sight- almost. Were the flowers not of ghastly colors, the doe might've forgotten the precarious situation she found herself in. And... was that birds?

Perhaps, if there was life that way, she might find someone who had seen her Root! Or at least could explain what was going on!

Setting her back straighter, Roses in Bloom pressed on, taking the right path deeper into the flowers.

It takes her only a moment to notice the sounds are fading, but only a moment later and they are gone, leaving her in an unnervingly quiet wrong-world. Golden eyes narrowed, suspicious, hard, she continues, flinching when the sound roars back in and the world changes around her.

Roots. Thorns. It was as if the dream knew of her distaste for plants, and had decide to wrap her in them. It was almost enough to make her turn immediately towards the left, away from the flowers to brave whatever black muck appeared down that path, but for the birds. Prey. Life.

She turned, unhesitatingly, down the path to the right.

The ever-deepening quiet threatened to lull her into deeper sleep, but still Hollyhock continued, sometimes a little quick, sometimes slowing down as her head nodded. She wasn't terribly alarmed by this; after all, the dream had already taken one of her dream-senses, why should the others be spared? But the moment that she stepped out of the ash jerked her suddenly awake; a sensation like a hypnic jerk that coursed through her body for a brief moment before she realized she was still asleep. Somewhere, she thought, Bristletail is probably cursing loudly. I might have kicked him. Hehehehehe. Now a more lifelike scent filled her nostrils: earth, and plants, growing. And the distinct sound of closeness, a confined space that left her with one direction to walk. Hollyhock reached out with her tail to determine the nature of the walls, and jerked back when she felt sharp pain, thorns. If the path split again, she would not want to walk into that, so she delicately kept her tail near the thorns while she walked.

Inevitably, the path split again, and she could hear things, too: on one side, a thick dripping. On the other, birds; and with them, a faint smell of flowers. Hollyhock considered, remembering why she was apparently here. Perhaps she could find her sister in an old memory, she thought, cringing at the idea; but then, perhaps the birds represented Stumble's ever bright and cheerful personality. Hollyhock tried calling out for her sister, but of course received no reply. Well, if this was meant to be a nightmare, she'd have to go with the more nightmarish scenario, wouldn't she? With a small sigh of reluctance, Hollyhock turned to the left, hoping against hope that the path would not turn out to be quickly flooded...

The seeming loss of hearing is a shock but not enough to make him pause. And then the discovery that, no, he is not deaf nearly sends him crashing to his knees in panic.

He manages to catch him and stares down at the ground, the echo of his fore hoof crashing in his ears like tidal waves. The harshness of his breath... It's a wonder he isn't by the sea.

He takes in his surroundings -- a shell of protection or a cage of doom -- and finds as usual that his mind wars against itself. The black pools are far from inviting and yet the flowers... Red as blood, yellow illness. Stop, caution.

He doubts himself even as he chooses to step left towards the black. Sound logic is often fruitless in dreams. And he's not known to be logical even awake.

Her body exploded, and she gasped as she awoke. Heart hammering against her chest, Wings looked like a crazed kimeti, eyes wide and hair standing on end all over. The dream so vivid in her mind, scared her more than the thought of death. Death was a part of life, but to explode when looking for a child...That should never happen to anyone.

She walked away from the tree, moving slowly while her heart slowed back to normal. Looking down to rub something off her hoof, Wings spots a mushroom that looks like the one in her dream. Scraping it off, she vowed never to eat glowing mushrooms again.

It seems that Feral Storm had been wrong. There were no kin about in the dark, dank caves. Maybe it wasn't even the white and red doe that he had met some time ago. but if that were true, then who could it be?

As he thought about this, he continued down until he made it to the other end of the rocky shelter, ignoring the pulsing glow of the cave mushrooms. Once he returned to the off-color light of the sky, he came upon the path that he had started on, though a little further ahead. It seemed that he wasted precious time with the scenic cave route.

Making his way down the old path, Storm finds that the falling ash has stopped, the ground once again bare. Looking around, he sees vines come to life and forming a sort of makeshift tunnel.

When he comes to another split in his path, he evaluates them. Upon inspecting the path further to the right, he thinks back to his days as a colt and remembers the dangers that nature can produce and how it hides behind the most harmless things.

With this thought in mind, Storm turns left towards the evil looking goop, prepared to face whatever may come his way.

Completely silent. It wasn't muffled. Silence. Her thoughts expanded to fill the open air. She could almost see them pouring from her mind. Then suddenly, sound returned. Not slowly. All at once. It teared at her ears and brought water to her eyes. Slowly, she adjusted. Pain. Loud. Hurt. Taking in the new surroundings, because they were completely new, she slowed her pace to a stutter. It was dark. A tunnel had appeared while she was being swallowed by noise. Approaching the walls, she saw they consisted of thorny roots. They were much larger than any she'd seen before. Dark. Sinister. If she continued on this path, as she felt she must, she would have to choose a direction once more. Right or left? Chattering can be heard. Birds. Many? Loud. To the right. I don't like their sound. Flowers bloomed sickly shades of red and yellow. It looked like death.
To the left, she could hear a dripping and she saw black pools of liquid, thick and oily falling from some branches near the top. Neither path gave her comfort. She couldn't, however, stay here. She had to keep going. She chose the left. Perhaps she could at least step over the pools on the ground.