She flits ahead of her sister, skirting the very edges of the Meadow, purposefully out of sight of her ever-watchful great grandfather. Brennen worries, of course, as he has always worried about his descendants, but perhaps rightfully moreso the purple girl and her strawberry colored mother. After all, Kellyn was a troublesome and mischievous child, and the first time she truly escaped the careful eyes of her father and grandfather, the time-traveling girl had whisked herself off to a quest and come back talking to the dead and with a strange, too-long pregnancy that had culminated in the birth of a purple filly who looked half dead, even though she thrived, and was constantly turning into a ghost and back again.
Now Cassady is stuck solid, with only memories of the flights of fancy that had led her to go ghost and back again, but on the upside (in her opinion), she has also been relieved of the appearance of being half dead. Instead the fae have left her ageless, forever young, and she is taking advantage of that. Some have already rushed to the Mountain, pleaded for their magics back, but Cassady hasn’t decided if she wants hers back. It was never really under her control, anyway, the ghost shifting, and it came with that nasty side effect. She fancies maybe the immortality is a better deal anyway…only time will tell.
Something draws her to them, brown eyes curious in the purple face; she doesn’t have the words for the feeling of kinship, but she feels the same draw to them as to Carwyn. Half-siblings, Carwyn her mother’s second child, and these two brightly colored creatures the children of the father she never met. “Hello,” she calls, slowing and stopping by them, wondering; do they feel the same strange tug to otherness, to magic, to relation, whatever, as she does? “I’m Cassady.”
cassady