And so it is that they come home, at last.

She still bears the key around her neck, the metal charm resting beside her glowing stone. Some nights they have looked on it as they stood their watch, exchanging stories of what they would do when they returned to their home, when the mountains no longer needed them. Had Sohalia started the academy? Were the children learning, as she had so longed for them to? Did Ampere fulfill her duty as a mother? Did she know about...? Seeing Meg had been a relief, reassurance that not everything had changed, but there was still so much for the Fire Dancer to find out. So many questions, so many hopes and dreams.

There were also fears. Who had replaced her? Had Amaris gone, and Lace? Did they hate her for leaving without remark, torn away as she was by the Sun God's warnings? Was there a place for her, still, in the herd she had learned to call her own, the home which still burned a fire in her breast? Worse, have they forgotten her? Has Sacre forgotten the strange friendship they shared, has Zero forgotten her time as his mentor? Will there still be room at the Sun God's fire for her to rest and keep watch? Jealously she remembers Maren, the strange new Diviner, and wonders if the tiger mare has gained the God's favor in the same way the Fire Dancer once had. She hates the bridge, and all it represents, hates that Gaucho felt such a need to keep them separate, to isolate those without wings like... like... Like me.

Don't have to come back, her brother states pointedly, annoyed the girl's morose train of thought. Could just hide, like used to. Two-toned ears flick back into a silver mane; the girl frowns, annoyance spreading across her face as she turns away from the gate and toward the smug little fox. "Don't be a dick," she snaps irritably, eliciting a display of his little pink tongue. He was right, though (I'm always right!): they had wanted to come home, had longed for the desert and the sea, and it was pointless to let fear stand in the way of that now. This was their home, damnit, and none of her memories, none of her ghosts, were going to keep her from crossing that stretch of ocean and onto the desert sands.

Still, she hates the bridge.

They arrive on the other side more or less in one piece, the boy jumping nimbly from his sister's narrow shoulders and landing in a puff of sand. Sand! Smooth and coarse and dusty and endless, it stretches before them in weaving waves, dotted with the occasional tree or shrub but otherwise pristine. A stiff breeze ruffled playfully at her hair, pulling eagerly at wayward strands which had long since escaped from messy braids. It whispered, Welcome back! Follow me! Come!

And follow she did, a tall copper child and her small companion, head held high beneath the noonday sun, glittering with fire and confidence and pride and happiness at being home.

[open to anyone! Edit to say placed just before the SWP begins]
"stop."