She limped a little ways away, wincing and hissing. She didn't think she would die, or anything like that--at least she hoped she wouldn't. But it damn hurt.
Acheron didn't know it yet, but she'd need some recovery time, after this.
For a few moments she tested her movement, stretching and grimacing.
For a moment, she tried willing herself to do just that--but nothing happened.
It wasn't a good idea to try again. If it backfired again she could wind up chrysalized, and she knew it. And it wasn't just determination that prompted her to risk it: it was a stupid, childish sense of wronged anger.
She glanced back at the stone, and lashed out--it was as simple as that--with a dour glare. There was a black spark, a pop, and nothing--again.
Acheron wished she knew more swear words, because right now she felt like unleashing a stream of them at this stupid rock. Even though she was limping, hissing in pain, she wanted nothing more than to just... blow it up.
Somehow.
She turned away again, her ears flattening back in fury, when nothing happened. She began the slow limp back toward the tunnel, wincing every step.
Of course, she still couldn't give it up; the shame of going home with broken bones for no reason was too much, and stubbornness spiked as she paced across the floor. Another stone--smaller, still distant--was targetted, and she narrowed pale eyes at it as she passed. Another sullen pull of magic lashed for it.
It didn't occur to her to stop while she was ahead, really. Her magic snared the stone, and Acheron paused, head lifting with interest.
As it turned out--no, she had not.
She was just a child, so what happened next was particularly cruel: the magic she'd attempted to summon up swelled and expanded, a dark hole just ahead. She should have seen it coming when it simply inhaled the rock: yanked it into itself with a crushing crunch.
But Acheron didn't know just what she'd done, and so--still pained--she dared to limp a little closer. The black hole, however, was expanding rapidly--and a moment later she felt a single, strong, violent tug at her forelegs.
Again, everything was just a blur--this time, of sharp and agonizing pain, spinning cave and another crunch. She squealed and then screamed in fear, hooves dragging at the rock, and felt pain as her body suddenly compressed. The magic had caught her, and it was sheer luck that it wasn't outright fatal--luck that her stone began to catch, that the magic faded before it consumed her entirely.
Acheron struggled to escape it, but moments later she was feeling the pain (like that in her ribs) spread wildly across her body. Limbs, hindquarters as she spun--they were caught in the energy magic, crushed downward and shattered. Bones snapped. Muscles twisted.
Suddenly--there was silence.
This had not gone to plan.
That thought was distant, faint, unimportant; more important was the agony wracking her body. She tried to turn, to look back at what she'd done, but she couldn't twist the right way--everything was broken. A rasping gasp escaped her, and she turned, a final instinct driving her to find somewhere safe to rest.
Hooves hauled her weakly, dragging her body, across the rock. Pain fluttered through the dark fog that filled her mind, a fog that rose higher as the gemstone between her shoulderblades began to glow.
Acheron hauled her way toward the tunnel, to the cave wall. Sheer force of will kept her conscious long enough; she didn't know what would happen if she passed out here, in the open, and didn't want to find out.
Only after she'd slumped down against the blessed darkness, the cool wet, of the cave wall did her stone begin to creep up: gradually engulfing her, drawing her down into its healing grasp. Consciousness faded, and Acheron drifted into a merciful sleep.