There is no end to the shifting tide of life, no way to stabilize the world, make it stand still or undergo examination for any duration longer than the width of a breath. From the youngest in a sprawling family to the loneliest grain of desert sand; from quiet, rarely-spoken filly to opinionated, infuriated mare; from child to medic, from medic to oracle; from outsider to insider and insider to queen; so many changes have swept through the girl's life that firedancer is left in a whirlwind blur, completely incapable of fathoming it all.

She can say with no certainty how it all happened; looking back on the steps of her life, she is still too young to follow their trajectory toward anything remotely resembling sense. Wasn't she a child mere hours ago, running rampant in misty meadows, heedless of the laws and expectations of their world? Wasn't she a girl simple seconds ago, afraid of the dark, with no greater desire than to serve beneath the Sun and defend the ones she loved? Isn't a part of her still those things, even if she is now so much more, weighed down by expectations and carried high on misplaced belief?

But who believes in her, really? Gaucho? She isn't sure what to make of the brute. Does he regret his impulsive decision, his promotion of a child who lacks control of her own power? I believe, her brother proclaims from his position beneath her, sheltered from the worst of the sun by the long, thin shadow she casts on the sand. She smiles- Good, because you're in on this, too- long strides leaving him struggling to keep up, lanky limbs leaving clear hoof prints in the brush and sand.

They have spent a decent amount of time at the outskirts of their home, walking its narrow border, relishing the final days before it becomes an island. Yet another change in the string of newness, another shift of the world which the girl is not sure she feels comfortable with. The world does not ask her what she wants; it never has, in her tender years, never once invited her to weigh in on her life. She has learned that there is no justice except what you make, no fairness aside what you create; and so she tries to see the world through her moral code, to create a reality both fair and just, if not constant.

For there is always change.

Boy and his sister cannot say who is the first to see her. As though a single set, gilded and onyx gazes seem to take in the figure simultaneously, two hearts leaping into closed off throats. The slope of shoulders, the glitter of scales; the way the long tail sprawls into the sand is painfully familiar yet horrifyingly wrong and suddenly, mechanically, they find that they are at her side-

And there are words in throats, and touches on skin-

And there is fire everywhere, a powerful exhalation of embers dancing on the dragon's spine-

And the boy is nestled against their cousin's chest, while the girl throws her neck across too-thin shoulders-

And there is too much emotion for simple tears, too many feelings to possibly express, but the embers are working their magic as quickly as the fire child can wield them-

-(she is so very happy, yet so afraid)-

And she prays to all the Gods who will listen, that if she ever saves anyone, let it be her; if it takes her life so be it; if it leaves her broken upon the desert sand, it will have been worth it, far more than worth it, to see her live-

And in a shuddering voice, bright with adrenalin, heavy with exhaustion, deep with love, she whispers and screams and prays and exhales-

"Amaris. Amaris. I love you. Don't leave."-

And silently, mentally, she adds, Not again.