The flower was bright yellow. It had large bright petals and a bright green steam. Healthy, colorful. The brittle autumn grass and fallen leaves paled in comparison to this survivor of fairer weather. Isengrim lowered his head, puffing a soft breath across it and watched the petals ripple. How it had survived was irrelevant, he decided. Lowering his head he picked it and set off. His trek took him across the meadow, weaving between the groups of other horses that dotted the grassland. It wasn't until he reached the coast that he realized his predicament.

Heaving a deep breath, Isengrim waded into the ocean on careful limbs. As he paddled out to sea he tried his best to keep his head afloat. A few waves crashed overhead despite all his efforts and by the time he finally dragged himself onto the shores of the Dunes he was waterlogged and annoyed. His dark lips twitched in a frown and he paced back and forth on the shore. The repeated hoofprints were several inches deep by the time he finally finished his stomping.

He set off for the familiar Dunes where his mother was, still clutching the flower gently in his teeth. As he passed a lone oasis, Isengrim reluctantly took a peek in the dark waters. His face was a dark shadow, and the flower was not much better. The stem, once bright, was now limp and brownish at the end. A single leaf hung from the side, gently twisting in the wind. The petals had not fared well either, two remained. One was tattered and tarnished, barely hanging on, while the other was full but just as damaged. Isengrim's brow furrowed and he considered dropping the flower into the water.

But it had been beautiful once. He'd wanted to show it to his mother and he still would. Hesitantly, Isengrim placed the flower at the shore and took a few gulps of the cold water before grabbing the flower once again.

He crested a dune, finding the Sadim herd in his ghostly gaze. Isengrim half-reared and whinnied, or at least the best he could without opening his mouth. It was muffled and a little strange but it was just loud enough to reach the group in the distance. He flicked his gaze from horse to horse looking for Azalaïs. Whatever good Isengrim had in his heart, he saved for his mother.