It felt strange to be making a memorial for a friend who wasn't really gone, and yet had been changed almost beyond recognition. She had died, though, according to everyone he had talked to who had been there, and what had been reborn from that fallen body was... different.
She had been one of his anchors when he had arrived, though, a friend and an equal - in many ways his better - in a way that he had felt with only a few others. They would never again dance in the glade or hold hands under the moonlight or sing to the luxere. A unicorn's horn could cure burns and close wounds, but she would never set another broken bone or suture closed a gash, skills she had spent her life honing. It was a bittersweet realization, and made it all the more difficult to come to terms with what had happened.
Still, Jigano had walked their old paths, gathering seeds and cuttings from medicinal plants, and from several of the trees in the Glade. He had gathered good, black dirt into a waxed bag as well, enough to give his collection of seeds and seedlings a good start in life. He wished he could have found a volcanette to transplant, but the fiery flowers had proved elusive since their first meeting, and he reluctantly gave up on the idea.
Loaded down with his preparations, he waited for his guide at the edge of town around midmorning, watching the clouds clearing away after an early-morning shower, shepherded by a brisk spring breeze. Isuma balanced on his shoulder, letting the wind ruffle her feathers as thicker vanes began to replace downy baby-fuzz, the pale gryphlet beginning to show hints of a rosette pattern on her back and hindquarters. The pair were outwardly patient, but Jigano would smile with relief whenCaiside arrived, greeting his friend with a wave of welcome. "Ready to lead the way?"
She had been one of his anchors when he had arrived, though, a friend and an equal - in many ways his better - in a way that he had felt with only a few others. They would never again dance in the glade or hold hands under the moonlight or sing to the luxere. A unicorn's horn could cure burns and close wounds, but she would never set another broken bone or suture closed a gash, skills she had spent her life honing. It was a bittersweet realization, and made it all the more difficult to come to terms with what had happened.
Still, Jigano had walked their old paths, gathering seeds and cuttings from medicinal plants, and from several of the trees in the Glade. He had gathered good, black dirt into a waxed bag as well, enough to give his collection of seeds and seedlings a good start in life. He wished he could have found a volcanette to transplant, but the fiery flowers had proved elusive since their first meeting, and he reluctantly gave up on the idea.
Loaded down with his preparations, he waited for his guide at the edge of town around midmorning, watching the clouds clearing away after an early-morning shower, shepherded by a brisk spring breeze. Isuma balanced on his shoulder, letting the wind ruffle her feathers as thicker vanes began to replace downy baby-fuzz, the pale gryphlet beginning to show hints of a rosette pattern on her back and hindquarters. The pair were outwardly patient, but Jigano would smile with relief when
