Iri folds into her, trusting, warm, and so alive. She can feel her tiny heartbeat as it races against her skin, and she pulls in the wonderful baby-scent she would never grow tired. It calms her, all these perfect, little things. They are simple moments, but she has lived long enough to know their true value.
Taking some control of the dream back, Solace shrinks the galloping spirits until they are the size of young marsh-hares. With a steadying breath, she pulls close a mare with sharp, beautiful features. Oblivious of them, the spectator gallops steadily on - with a powerful stride and a look of determination in her eyes. Washes of gold and blue tint the clouds to replicate the coat of Solace's first daughter.
"This is Valdis," she says, and her voice has taken on a wistful, tired, tenderness. "She was your sister."
The cloud-mare recedes until softly she blends back into the puffs of spun-ice that float up around them. There are three specters left, and Solace draws the next mare to them with a bitter-sweet smile playing at the corners of her lips. This one has a crown of antlers and leopard spots, and a face that doesn't look so different from Solaces.
"This is Oriash." The ghost-mare slows to a hesitant walk, her wide, blue eyes looking over each shoulder without seeing. "I hope that you can meet her one day."
Like a ship taken to sea, Ori glides away the same as Valdis, and the third ghost takes her place. This one, a stallion, halts to stand and face them. He is well built, like his father, and there is the least of Solace in him. Black and white are splashed across his pelt, and a thick, royal blue mane hangs heavily against his neck. "Your brother, Velk," she says, and as she reaches to press her muzzle the little apparition's head, the image of her first-born dissipates. "A healer."
The fourth and final ghost, another young stallion comes to run beside them. A trail of effervescent, blue light follows him and there is a wound nestled between the working muscles of his chest. Solace had never seen her son with such a wound, and it's appearance strikes a note of fear in her own breast, one which she hides for Iri's sake. "This is Rhaegor," she says, her eyes never leaving him as his likeness gallops in place beside them. "And I hope that someday you will meet him too."
Seemingly satisfied with this acknowledgment, her creations do not resurface. Iri and Solace are alone once again. She looks to her youngest then, wondering what sort of feeling or reactions this strange meeting will bring up in her youngest child.
we are the ever-living ghost of what once was
