Though the grass is still somewhat green, even under a light coating of snow, the air is cold enough to put a thin layer of ice on the slowest of the Meadow’s streams, ice on the edges and water flowing sluggishly in the middle with ice chips bobbing on the surface.

And the strawberry mare is standing at the edge, watching, because she is so bored out of her mind that she can’t think of anything better to do. It’s almost hypnotic, the way the ice floats and bobs along, and it reminds Kellyn of home. Because despite several attempts to leave and find a new home, the Tundra had always been home. Cold, remote, her family lived there, and there weren’t a lot of ghosts. Perfect for child who shouldn’t have existed, perfect for a capricious child with the tendency to get into trouble jumping around in time, and perfect for a young mare who was half-insane and saw dead people.

But right now she is nothing, with not a single useful power to her name, and also she is homeless. The Tundra is gone, and she doesn’t have even the slightest idea which of the several lands that have appeared she might be interested in. Actually, Kellyn doesn’t have the slightest idea what she wants. It varies day by day – be a hermit, or rule the world. The middle ground seems so…blah.