Marla had woken earlier than usual that day, the sun still sending orange feelers out across the horizon when her eyelids peeled back to check the time. The last of her dreams slithered away at the gesture, leaving vague impressions that she quickly discarded. Dream interpretation, for all that her fellows swore its legitimacy, had never truly interested her. She had enough on her plate pretending at being a medium; there seemed little sense in adding on, even if her schedule had lagged somewhat recently. Her last appointment had failed to show, and she had blown off another when his skepticism had begun to take a turn for the absolute. It didn't happen often that she was found out before the grand finale, but it wasn't unheard of, and she rarely enjoyed the ensuing confrontation. Experience had taught her that it was better to cut and run than face a potentially enraged stallion. That same experience had necessitated mending her helmet, which was the only thing that had prevented that incident from being a fatal lesson.She waited out the last threads of sunlight, her ears erect and lazily following sounds. Gradually, the calls of birds and day-loving animals retreated, giving way to a more humble music. The mare moved from her hiding place once the darkness was complete enough for stars to materialize, throwing back her head and taking a deep, lung-cleansing breath. Adopting a nocturnal lifestyle had never been a conscious decision for Marla. The mare had no real qualms with the sun, after all: it had not wronged her, and did not burn her flesh on contact, despite the insinuations made by previous clients. She simply could not do her work under anything but the cover of darkness, both for the obvious, theatrical reasons, and also because it did much of the job for her. Shadows played tricks that the medium's most convoluted maneuvers could not manage, and the damp smells of earth intermingled with moldering bones were more likely to jumble senses that remained steady during the daylit hours. There was also her own safety to consider, and it was more difficult for her keener customers to give chase in an element they usually slept through. So the night had become hers, fashioned into a backdrop, a smokescreen, her silent partner in all past and future dealings. Anyone who sought her out did it when the sun burned low in the horizon, and if they had a phobia, they overcame it quickly. She did not fear the dark – she conducted her business in it.
Thirst drew a heavy, scratchy hand down her throat, and Marla sucked on her dry tongue, silently weighing the risks and benefits before starting toward the nearest stream. With the transition from day to night still underway, it was possible that she would reach the waters without meeting anyone who expected more than a muzzy greeting from her. The headdress she left where she had concealed it the morning before, scarves tucked lovingly beneath the brim and hard carapace cloaked with leaves and moss. It irritated her sometimes, how naked she felt without the heavy burden of her birthright crowning her head, but half-asleep and preoccupied with her cotton mouth, she allowed herself not to care.