The season changed, the cold swept in and Ghost was still roaming the wilds. She was a rebellious rogue with a gaze as frigid as winter itself and a soul as tumultuous as the wind swept. Her thoughts turned back and back once more to her mistakes, the moment it all unravelled and she was thrown to the wilds, homeless… Worthless. She had been a leader, a Czarina, how dare they dethrone her. Yet still her calculating mind betrayed her aching heart to injure it all the more for she knew it was her fault. Her mistake. The memory hurt though she covered it well, she replayed moments where she chose the wrong turn, where the gaps in her knowledge (the knowledge she so prized) had left her at the feet of the usurping army. Their reasons for invading were folly, fleeing a Goddess who could roam where she pleased, the banshee believed the Hidden Falls would not protect them if darkness comes again. For the darkness always follows where the brilliant light shines. However, all this does not matter, these are problems for the brigands who inhabit the lands of the quiet Earth Lord and no longer parts of problems she should trouble herself with.

Instead and for a long time, Ghost did as she pleased, drifting here and there. Her battered body had been slowly healing, with the help of Resplendence and her talent. Ghost had begrudgingly taken up her offer on the battlefield and tried to ignore the stares of pity, as if she was meant to have runaway. Yet, there were those brave souls who still stood and fought, with that in mind, how could she run and leave them leaderless. Even through the fall, Ghost knew her place, even unto the end, she would have lead them. When the cries had died and it had ended, she happily left without a promise or a word.

Since then, her beast had grown somewhat in the time they had been wayfaring. His fur had grown thicker, his ears still looked too big for his head and that yellow gaze pierced into the road in front. The wolf appeared to spot something, or smell something, and off he bounded with great intentness. By now, they had made it to the edge of the Thistle Meadow and the cold afternoon wind wrapped the sprite’s inky mane around her face. She followed her friend at a one pace walk, deciding he had probably scented a snack and a poor, unsuspecting animal was about to get pounced on. He had got better at hunting during their time roaming, Ghost no longer had to stun the creatures with magic to help him and the pup was growing more solemn and less exuberant, much to Ghost’s relief.

Fantôme stopped part the way into the dead meadow and began digging whilst the banshee watched on in confusion. What on earth was he digging for? She came to a halt behind him, folding her red tipped wings to the sides of her scarred body and observed him for a while with a grim, impatient set to her lips. Perhaps he’d struck gold or found a skull of something long dead; maybe it was just a mole and nothing exciting at all. She rested one back leg and waited for the grand unveiling.