She moves quietly, and the footprints she leaves behind are nothing like those of the thousands of hoofmarks that have worn this narrow path through the Meadow. Around her, summer is in full bloom, and the warm breeze fingers the silky strands of her midnight black mane. A fat bumblebee passes directly in front of her nose, seemingly oblivious to the varnish roan mare that is making her way through the field of wildflowers. Ephrelle feels an uncomfortable pang in her chest at the sight of the black and yellow body, and unconsciously pauses to press her muzzle to her chest, where her own honeybee used to rest. He is gone now, gone the way of her vine and flower tattoo, faded into nothingness when the magic returned to Beqanna.

He’ll come back, she tells herself, he’ll come back and she’ll be a Sister again.

Rather than continue her walk through the meadow, Ephrelle veers off the path, wading through belly deep grass until she finds the shade of a sentinel oak. It is only slightly cooler here, out of the sun, but Ephrelle is a native of the southern Jungle, and this heat is far from uncomfortable. There are other horses in the Meadow today, but none beneath her tree, and she wonders if anyone will approach her. She knows that she seems friendly enough, and while she’s not spoken to another horse in a long while, she is nearly sure that she’s ready to do so again.