theres an old man sitting on a throne thats saying...
It was too much.
Leaving the Dunes, finding Amet, making a home in the lake, taking in Ryan. Sure, it was all for the better. But it was a lot for her young mind to handle, especially without her partner in crime. After her blow up with Amet and Ryan, Iset had spun on her heel and raced off through the trees, ignorant to any attempts made to stop her. She had to run; had to get away from all of the changes. Even Amet was changing; he was turning into a diplomat with scales. Scales.
She just needed someone, something to be what it was. Needed something to stay constant. Only after she was deep enough into the forest that she knew Amet couldn’t track her down did she slow her pace to a brisk walk, saving her energy for whatever could be coming. Unconsciously, she found herself walking the very same trail she had taken to reach the lake in the first place.
Her mind ran nonstop during her trek to wherever it was she was venturing to, and before she knew it the sun had sunken below the trees and the moon hid behind the canopy of the trees. And, on top of everything else, she was lost.
She knew she had walked the same general path that she had taken on her journey with Amet, but for some reason she never got reached the Meadow again. Call it luck, (whether it was of the good or bad variety is unimportant), but when Iset saw the large white mare hovering over a small, dirty lump on the ground, her curiosity got the better of her, as it had so often in the past. The closer she got to the contrasting pair, the more she realized that said dirty lump looked shockingly similar to...to her.
She moved slowly, half afraid that if she disturbed the scene before her it would disappear forever. When her continued steps forward did nothing to make the mirage ripple and fade, she decided it couldn’t do any further damage to say something. Coming between the colt and the mare, Iset, indifferent to the fact that she was interrupting the latter, made up her mind to speak. However, what come out of her mouth resembled a hoarse croak more than actual words. Well, one word. A name to be exact.
“Sakir?"
...I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut