The starlit girl travels slowly, with purpose, cloven hooves carefully picking along the permafrost. The wind caresses her, welcomes her, gently pushes her forward, encouraging her to travel the path she has worn smooth with each time she followed it back to the Aurora Basin. She sees the mountains towering, formidable, ominous, but knows within those stony walls, nestled within the valley, lays a herd which she used to call her own. She remembers, now, standing watch, can imagine the creaking groaning sentinel towering beside her as she lended her own eyes to protect their threshold.

Yet, here she stands, the freezing wind buffeting her side, and though it is gentle in its encouragement, it also reminds her that a bitter crystalized death waits for those who linger too long upon the open expanse. For some reason, she cannot will herself forward. Deep in her gut writhes the memory of her post as general, how she had vanished and perhaps left their home unprotected. Erebos had assumed her role, and as much as he deserved it, she was envious of all she had lost. Would she be welcomed warmly? Would she be invited back with open arms, be able to join as the lowest warrior to earn her glory back one battle at a time? Or would she be chased from the valley, forsaken, banished?

A sigh leaves her, slipping free from her lips, and it rises in a white puff of steam. Slowly, step by step, she proceeds forward, trying to shake from her galaxy-coated curves the frost and the fear, the terrifying sense of unknowing. What she needed to do was find her children, yet somehow her path had led her back here, to the only home she had ever known in this place, and she found herself stuck in a purgatory of waiting, unsure which family she should return to.

Another gust of wind shoves at her. The air seems to be growing impatient, so with a huff and twisting ears she proceeds forward at a trot, knowing she should find shelter to protect from frostbite if she’s going to continue to mull the decision over. A ways off, a grove of trees break up the sprawling nothingness, and it looks as good a spot as any to shield her from the cold. But as she begins to move forward, a small buck, much to small to be an elk, but with enough antler crowning it’s head that it must be full grown, slips into the copse of trees, and Ki’irha freezes. She freezes and the rock within her stomach swirls and spins and moves to her throat. Sure, many people have cindyr companions, but there is one in particular who calls one his own. It has been seasons, years, since she has seen the Clovenheart. Had he returned during her absence? Had he climbed back through the mountain passes and resumed his own place as Haruspex? She was too far away to tell, so that only meant one way to answer her questions.

She reaches the trees with ease, her body fully healed and repaired by the magic Lena had provided, and she enjoys being able to finally stretch her legs upon the steppe again. Slipping through the trunks, she moves effortlessly, her body made for the winding wood. But sound disturbed the turbulent silence, like a bull thrashing through a thicket. Ashamin wasn’t a graceless beast, so certainly her excitement was snuffed. Still she continued forward, curiosity getting the best of her.

Fuck. Of all the beasts she could have found here, of all of the glorious friends she had made before her accident, of every godforsaken soul upon this desolate hellscape, it had to be him. She came to a stop, watching him stomp around like the petulant child she remembered. But still, despite the distaste that wanted to land on her tongue, she felt the smallest flutter of happiness. The stallion before her, in all of his terrible glory, was someone who she remembered, and though he could easily hold the crown for Helovia’s biggest asshole multiple years in the running, she couldn’t help but be pleased to see someone who had once been an integral part of her life, despite his impact on it.

“Rikyn,” she said, the word a statement, a purr, with no negative or positive inflection. She stepped free from her hiding place, hoping he would stop his thrashing, hoping he would turn and see her and recognize her. She could deal with his venom, deal with his bite, for her bite and sting were just as sharp as they had been so many years ago as they battled and bled and seeped black tar.

Although, she did hope today would end off a little better than that.