“Because, in it's own way: the earth is merely mirrored again and again. The earth, and the sky reflecting themselves.”
Tatiana shook out her long silver mane, the glistening strands grazing her forelegs. “I don't understand.”
The ghost-image didn't look surprised---but could you even, when you were a mere phantom of mist, floating on the air like the glowing aftermath caught in your pupils after staring into the sun?
“Look at it this way,” the ghost said, her voice drawn out like a hazy sigh, a haunted tune that didn't seem to disappear after she finished speaking. Like it seeped into the air and surrounded her instead. “The sky is like the ocean, blue and ever changing: the clouds the land, and when the lightning strikes you can almost see the trees shooting up from the turf like missiles, rejoicing in the rain that is the connection. The thunder is the sound of life that you can't even see in the air, hanging somewhere beyond our sights: and the wind is the tide of life.”
“Were the birds really born on Our Earth? On Our Grounds?” the ghost of Gale-Fire shook her head, her dark eyes like dark, space-holes against the white and black fog that composed her body; Tatiana thought absently that it had a sort of yin-yang effect. “No, they spawned in the Sky, looking up at us, with our green treetops and slinking rivers. They flew among branches of lighting that cracked and flashed like fiery whips in the wind; thunder called them home, and the clouds were their shelter.”
