The beach is the last place she must go, and it is with some hesitation that she enters. It is the opposite of the tropical beach she started at this morning. There is no pale sand accented by turquoise water. There is not the faint fragrance of tropical flowers, and the breeze that pulls at her mane is cold and hollow, instead of warm and welcoming. She travels swiftly across the dark shores, with hardly a sliver of moonlight to light the way. Her own vibrant dapples are the only stars to be seen — rippling and glimmering across her sides as she walks.

She is carefully watching the ground as she goes, her eyes sweeping across the pebble-like terrain. She ignores the lingering scent of death that that is carried on the breeze, and when she accidentally nearly steps on a stray bone she grimaces and sidesteps around it. She was just beginning to wonder if this was a trap and perhaps the fairies had lured her here to kill her when a pale ribbon of moonlight catches the crystallized insides of the last geode.

With the final piece tucked alongside its comrades in her makeshift leaf satchel, she hastily exits the deadly grounds, and begins the journey back to the mountain.