Revelations did not come quickly as the woman gazed upon her reflection. To have such a revelation, there first must be thought upon the conflict. Assuming there was one of course. Time seemed turned to liquid as she stood there, minutes and seconds falling off the proverbial clock. And what was time to her anyways? She, who roamed and fled from shadows that did not exist? To Rowan, there was no future. Only the very millisecond she lived in. More than anything she wished for, deep within the secret chambers of her heart, the fae wanted to have such a future. Something, anything to look forward to. There was nobody to miss her presence, nor welcome her home and into their presence upon her return. She had turned into a shadow- unknown, unnamed, and unwanted. There was nothing she could offer other than the sharpness of her mind and her natural affinity to go undetected. 

So she asked herself once again. Where now, Rowan? Continuing this life on the road, returning to what was supposed to be her home only when dusk bled the sky of its color, was not a life to be proud of. When, she pondered, was the last time she had even spoke? Before Frostfall. It was a saddening discovery. One part of her was resigned to this lifestyle. Rowan suspected that was Feyther talking. The other, spirited part of her planted metaphorical hoof into the ground and refused to budge. It shrieked at her like a banshee from the depths of hell. Asking of her why in the world she was being so hate brained. This side was disgusted by her disloyalty to her herd. By her lifeless ways. Where was the passion she had as a filly? When all she cared for was proving that no matter her size she could take anyone on. Back then she had stated life in the face and grinned. Enjoyed simply living. 

Thoughts broke apart like a thin sheet of ice, cracking and exploding into tiny silver, sparkling fragments. Lost in the whites of her eyes, in the reflection of the moon of the lake. Soft, wry voice called out to her after the noise that had alerted Rowan to the stranger's presence. Blonde curls spread over her face as she lifted her cranium to face her. Iridescent eyes met her, flickering and moving so that young lass could not determine the exact shade. Older, wise in a way Rowan didn't and would likely never understand. Then again, they had traveled different paths. It was understandable. She stood taller than Rowan, but she had grown used to this fact. At least it was minimal, within one hand. Rowan dipped her head when realization came to her. This was their Oracle. 

"Of course you may. I was merely pondering." The voice that came onto the air soft and respectful. This was her mentor, or was to be. The famed Cassiopeia. Rowan was a wonderful listener, and knew how high the herd held the dark roan mare. Dark copper body moved to better face the winged woman. "I am Rowan. Can I venture to assume you are Cassiopeia? I have heard much of you, if that does not sound strange." Every skilled or highly classed member was often brought up in conversation. Midas, Cassiopeia, Kri, Leander, Azzuen. Rowan had heard them all, and every piece of information was stored tightly away in her photographic memory.