To be a nymph was to be mostly passive. They were not the force-markers of the world, or the earth shakers. They were the gentle stewards who took all of the open endings of nature in their hands and made beauty from it. They wove the chaos into something meaningful and useful.

So when Dyname went missing after the great battle and did not reappear after some weeks, Ampoule tried her hardest to let the forces at will settle. She braided her sweetgrass, and she danced amongst the waters. She powdered her medicines, and she waited, and she waited, and she waited…

Ampoule looked where she could, but had not made it farther than the lands that just surrounded her stretch of beach. It was then that the nymph realized that, no, she never left Dreamsend Shores anymore, did she?

She used to leave to visit the howling river and its beautiful, treacherous flame – but that had been some time ago.

When Ampoule did not know where to begin to search more profoundly for her young sister, she sat alone and thought of that strange building amongst the woods, where all those mortal souls had come together. Yes, if anyone knew where a striking spotted young seagirl would be, it was them!

First, the tides had delivered Dyname to her. Now, Ampoule’s own rushing tide would deliver her to Dyname.

She looked upon the very building from the treeline, obscuring her image behind that of a rather large and burly trunk. The Nymph attempted to sniff, but found it hard to scry one scent from another when they were all pushed together like that, and of course, veritable strangers to her.

Ampoule shifted her weight, feeling uncharacteristically nervous, and trying to steal one more moment of silence before she knew she must call out and give an enigmatic entrance.

Lyra was tending the garden.

Or attempting, in any event. She'd traded a fella for some bulbs he claimed to be magic, that would grow into flowers capable of healing most ailments.

But the instructions for how deep to bury them and into what kind of soil had been complex, with the assurance that if she did it wrongly, they'd have no powers atall.

Thus her fixation was immense, the length and breadth of swearing muttered under her breath was eloquent, and she did not at first notice the eyes lurking in the treeline.

The Howff had become a place of recovery as much as it was refuge, the wound left behind by the battle had largely healed, but not without reminders. Some mornings when she rose too quickly or twisted the wrong way, a dull ache still lingered along her ribs where the break had once been. But the pain no longer slowed her as it had in those first weeks, and she grew more and more restless eager to find her way back home. And so, Dyname emerged from the inn stepping into the warmth of the afternoon sun.

Spring was holding Mythris now and its touch showed plainly upon her. The deep grey coat she carried through the winter was shifting beneath the seasons influence. Along her shoulders, back, and flanks faint hues of violet started to bloom through the softer greys, dusks colors bleeding slowly across calm water.

Dyname paused on the porch for a moment, gaze drifting toward the gardens where Lyra busied herself with what appeared to be a fierce and deeply personal disagreement with several flower bulbs and she considered offering assistance. Then reconsidered. Some battles were best left to their chosen combatants.

With quiet amusement lingering beneath her otherwise composed expression, she descended the steps and started across the ground. The movement revealing only the faintest hitch in her stride, the lingering stiffness that surfaced now and then.

She moved forward without haste without purpose, attention wandering over the grounds and the distant trees beyond.

The breeze shifted, bringing a scent of home past her, salt and ocean spray causing her chest to tighten and her pace to slow ears drawing forward as she stood there; listening. Hoping.

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