As far as integrating herself back into her family, Sickle has not even attempted it. She has seen them - watched from afar, wrapped herself up in a disguise so the telltale glint of her iridescent blue coat won’t give her away. There had been an ache, somewhere deep inside of her, but it was easy for her to keep it at a distance and ignore it. She had been practising well at that over the years. Shifting her emotions into more manageable, more preferable states, just as easily as she can shift her coat or shape.

So then she had simply turned away and left thoughts of them behind with the rest of her past.

Only one from her youth does she allow to still influence her heart - one who she always knows where to find. Not because of any sort of luck on her part as a hunter but because they are perpetually trapped in the same pond in the same forest forever.

Today Sickle does not travel beneath those spring green boughs. She is by the river, again draped in a disguise. Her coat is a dark, dappled grey and the eyes that watch her surroundings match the patches of clover growing among the grass. There is no trace of the spinal mane she naturally possesses, no markings at all beyond the dapples. It is an unremarkable look, devoid of the rainbow of colours found in her family. She is not looking to impress or intimidate today, merely to observe. To think.

Golden sunlight signals the approaching end of the afternoon, illuminating the world through large slanted rays that emerge from approaching clouds. A storm is coming, and will likely be here before dark, but for now the sun still causes the surface of the river to glitter. The water is icy, flush with snow melting from the mountains, and Sickle is careful to keep space between it and her as she wanders along the bank.

Nearby, but not too close, Oceanus the blue fire phoenix plucks at shamrocks - finding pulling at plant matter to be a far better way to distract his nerves over Sickle’s moods rather than picking at his own flaming feathers.