She remembers the sleek chestnut teke from the commons.

She had thought about her often; the bright copper of her coat, the depth of her dark eyes, the sweetness of her voice. She had been a catalyst for Shaydowfax: the then-queen of the cove had taken her interruption as a declaration of war, and the peak had answered her challenge with fervor. The sisters did not take kindly to threats, and Bozena had come back victorious from the battle for Amduat’s captivity.

Amduat, however, would sit and wait.

Imagine her surprise, then, when the red mare had come to their mountain.

The wraith moved silently forward, weaving in and out of the scraggly trees at their peak. She waited, watching from the shadows until the woman had reached the top, before revealing herself from the shadows. She was not a sight to behold; her gray eyes were lined with heavy shadows, her white coat was now brown with dirt, her sides bulged, heavy from the child within her womb. But she smiled, genuinely, as she watched her travel the path.

”You have come.” and I hope you will stay.

She does not assume, but hope lingers the lines of her weary face.