The flower-girl came back from the wedding with news of a divorce.

Having the fled the gritty sand and dust of the Throat, I made my way home, the familiar place I had grown up for for much of my young life, except for a brief time where I had roamed in a sketchy, dark forest that I had little love for. Even in the memories, I still shudder to remember the slimy green algae blossoming on stagnant ponds and the paths full of briars and thorns that tug and tore at my fragile, almost-pearl golden skin. I had the slightest of notches in my right nostril from a particularly stubborn branch that had gotten itself caught in my nose- luckily, the tiny nick was nigh-impossible to see. For once, I don't think Ru had been with me during the time I had romped off looking for a non-existent Prince Charming. I wonder if she would've laughed. Right now, I didn't feel like I knew her anymore. Scratch that- I didn't. She had just abandoned me, and it stung.

I didn't move the fastest on the way back, I'm sorry to say, but I didn't see any point in rushing when the mercenaries that were my family were probably moving slowly to the mountains from the Edge, covered in wounds and cuts and bloody injuries. Ugh, war. Mother had fought in it- I thought it was particularly daring of her; after all, she might have scarred her pretty coat.

Secretly, I was glad that I was too young to participate in the invasion, even if it meant I might not be as valuable. I wouldn't want to ruin my beautiful looks at only ten months.

At long last, I crested the last hill before the familiar, vaguely primitive smell of stone and cold mountains washed over me. For a moment I hovered there uncertainly, glancing at my tail self-consciously and wishing I had a moment to clean myself up a bit (a few burrs had snagged on my coat here and there, and there were some prominent mud stains of my fetlocks that I hadn't time to wash off). Still, it was probably more important to get the news (since when had I became a messenger? I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Although I suppose spies sort of are messengers.) to hard-faced Ktulu, who always looks like she has something stuck up her ass. And yet... she protected the herd, and was a leader since before I was born. "KTULLUUUU." I shout, flicking my lush, full tail and careening down the slope in a swift, ground-eating canter.

I slow, sweat still glistening on my neck and haunches from my run the last few kilometers, making me shine like sun on morning dew (despite being a little smelly).

I wonder if it would be too dramatic to shout out the news to the mountaintops.

Yeah, I should probably just wait.