Like sands through the hourglass, they trickled away from the bleak gathering, their eyes glazed and their minds numb. Some went to the oasis, surely thinking that they might drown their sorrows. Some took to the skies, as though the wind in their face and the sun on their back might chase away their grief. But one young stallion and one younger filly made their way to the beach, and it was there that their healing would begin.

In truth, the young sand princess was not in need of any healing. After all, she had seen the phoenix that was Gaucho's soul ascend into the sky, had seen his ghost appear to watch over the gathered herd. He wasn't gone, not really - it was just that they couldn't see him, and the dark shroud of death made it difficult to find one's faith. But she went to the sea all the same, following and not following the one-winged stallion, simply intent on getting to the water. It was there that she always felt the most at ease, content to simply watch the waves wash in and out, their repetition a soothing lullaby for her lonely soul. Even if she didn't grieve for Gaucho's death, his absence would still be felt in the days to come.

"FUCK!"

Vinati's little ears swiveled towards the sound, only a split second faster than her head. That was a new word, a bad word, one that she was sure her mother wouldn't appreciate - she felt it in her bones. She tucked it away for future use, wondering who she might ask about its meaning, and proceeded to watch with a raised brow as the young stallion kicked at a rock, breathing hard. On any other day, she might have pranced forward. What did that rock ever do to you? But today, she was willing to give her herd mates a bit of space. They were sad, and she was old enough now to know that sadness took many forms - even anger.

The rocks began to move then, and the girl watched for some time as the stallion carefully built a statue of various stones and metals, enraptured by the intricacy of the design. When it was finished and the stallion stepped back, seemingly lost in thought, the girl bounded forward. Without speaking, she called upon her own magic. Crystal sprouted from the metal, yellow-white at the base and fading to a burnt orange-red at the tips, creating an intricate pattern of flames that dance along the sculpture's wings. A thin layer of colored crystals, so thin one could barely tell it existed, was crafted in shades of yellow and orange and red in strategic places on the sculpture's body. When the light shone on it, it gave the illusion of warmth that the sculpture had been lacking, as though the sun above was highlighting rippling muscles.

"What 'bout Vorsa and Mara?" the girl asked without preamble. "They should be there, too."

Talk.