The Sentinels these ancient stones will tell us our love must make us strong

her heart soared as they trundled together, making the thing shift, manipulating it to motion. deirdre hadn't any grace in her stubby limbs yet, and so the affair was perhaps rather messy looking to any onlooker—but it was still a vision to witness, nonetheless, their childish gleefilled maneuvering a heartwarming sight. that remained so up until the last, when the tuft breezed past them to the Otherworld. deirdre did not observe this but instead her sisters quick movement toward that place, and deirdre herself seemed to trip over her limbs as she overestimated her own swiftness. her tongue felt thick in her mouth, but instead of willing her sister toward her with words, she instead implored the thing that floated from them to return so that her sister need not move nearer to where deirdre herself had no desire to go.

yet she knew she would, if it meant her constant companion would be alright. the only way to ascertain that was to never leave her. deirdre depended on her elder sister for much; to lose her would be to lose herself, in a lot of ways. as emaleth shivered the young witch moved alongside her (begrudgingly, fearful of the Otherworld) to lend her warmth. there wasn't much the babe could provide, hardly able to keep herself at a consistent temperature. there was a beckoning within their abode which promised the warmth she felt then-deprived of, but her sisters words saddened her to a point of utter stillness.

she painted the picture of a frozen thing the ice had kissed, bedecked in white and cold and frigid as she was. but a shiver provided proof of life, and deirdre pressed nearer to emaleth. all things that go, come again. someway, somehow. the wheel turns and turns. she looked back to her sister now, their eyes meeting; and at that, a snowflake spun in, thick and substantial, its route leading to emaleth.