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."

When the time came to return home, the girl promised herself many things. That she would be braver, kinder, stronger; that she would make an effort to learn the stories and secrets of those in her herd; that she would continue to train both body and mind, the better to serve as an effective protector of those she loved; that she would continue to serve the gods to the best of her abilities; and that she would stop being such a fool, such a child, such a wreck, when she next saw him.

But the promises we make to ourselves are the easiest to break, and to be fair, the last is not the one she had anticipated having to keep first. When they cross the bridge they are almost surprised - nay, disappointed - with the lack of aplomb, the absence of a welcoming symphony to carry them home. For a moment the Fire Dancer hesitates, one hoof raised in tentative trepidation. But her shadow swiftly darts ahead, and his joy is infectious, his delight spreading tingles of merriment through her mind. She laughs softly, woes momentarily left behind; she follows at a more languid pace, bright body a dot of fire in the endless expanse of desert and sea.

She is so caught up in her surroundings that she does not see the boy with the bloodstained side, not before her brother does at least. Natraj's keener senses catch scent and sight; she is surprised by his sudden influx of trembling excitement, and assaulted by the adrenaline which fills him and spills over to her as the kitsune springs into action, small black body streaking toward the younger vulpines, greetings of glee spilling from his lips at the sight of his foxy friends. She watches him with her heart in her throat, dark eyes trained on the mess of tails and fur and carefully avoiding the source of the equine voice which rises in her such foolish, unabashed delight.

"Sacre."

At last she raises her careful gaze, and the smile which splits her moon-slashed face is soft and unmistakable. She regards him quietly, though a subdued chuckle escapes her lips at the way he plays with the vowels of her name. The fact that Sacre has not changed both thrills and terrifies the copper child, who in the past year has changed so much, falling and rising and falling and now? He greets her with the same jovial smile, charm coming easy to his boyish features, but is it real, is it for her? She has never truly known where she stands with the boy, whether transgressions and affection are shared between them or simply in her mind. Had he ever forgiven him for all her sins? She had nearly lit him on fire, seduced him with magic- even her mother had transgressed against the boy, earlier than the filly could have possibly known. Worse, far worse, had he simply never cared?

Copper child remembers tears shed on the edge of the world, apologies and forgiveness offered with heartfelt veracity. He had been brave enough to come to her then, brave enough to come to her again and again. She had thought about this and a million other moments, a million things she'd yearned to say, on dark mountain nights when the wind blew cold. Yet now as she stands before him, gold body rigid and black eyes wide, she considers rescinding on all of her promises. It would be significantly easier, after all, to continue treating him as merely a cautious friend instead of what he was: one of the only constant things in her hitherto turbulent life.

I've missed you.

And with that her shields are shattered, finally, finally broken by this poor, patient boy. Fire dancer drops, falters, and surges forward, swallowing fear and following instinct, taking a risk for something she wants, something she needs: closeness. A friend. And what better friend to have than this boy, this man, who she thinks may be one of the best she has ever known? Soft nose extends with cautious purpose, delicate as a butterfly, reaching for his touch, his scent, the supple curve of a cheek or strong arch of a neck, offering a rare and certain warmth. "I missed you, too," she whispers against his svelte skin, alto voice low and earnest.

For the moment, that is enough.