I don't know why it's called a good bye

Flora

Flora nods at the question, the motion loose and sunny as she steps closer and lets the wind push the hem of her dress against her legs. She comes to a comfortable stop near Colt’s feet, the sand firm and cool beneath her toes, and her grin curls wider as she shakes her head. "No horse needed," she says, laughter threading through the words. "My best friend can turn into a pegasus now, so I’m pretty set for horses I think." Her curls lift in the breeze again, catching against the curve of her cheek like sea foam getting ideas, and when she tucks them back there’s a spark of mischief in her aqua eyes.

"Actually," she adds, tilting her chin toward Colt with a conspiratorial gleam, "my bestie is the girl you played strip poker with during LongNight." The grin that follows is bright and irrepressible, blooming across her face like sun breaking through the storm-thick clouds overhead. "Soh had a blast," Flora continues, fingers brushing the gold rings at her hip as if tapping out the memory’s rhythm. "We were talking the other day and thought it might be fun to do a girls’ weekend at the House of Midnight—pampering, dumb decisions, questionable fashion choices, the usual."

She leans in just enough to make the offer feel warm rather than formal, curls slipping forward again in the wind. "And we wanted to know if you wanted to come."

I don't like that falling feels like flying
'til the bone crush

Code stolen from Queen Sky