The Sentinels tristesse

Emaleth was curious of the Otherworld, and her thirst to understand it grew each day— at first, she had feared another rebirth, until it dawned upon her that the Giver and Bringer often left through the gate, and they always returned unchanged. It was the cold that dissuaded her, then, rather than fear. Her small form was unable to regulate its own heat, particularly due to the absence of a true undercoat. But a day would come, before the first thaw, that little Emaleth would finally cross over the threshold and come to understand just how large this life was.

When the Bringer returned, she and Deirdre had just finished playing— dancing and pouncing upon each other, babbling as they did in their secret language— for the paler sister had grown weary, and fell into a heavy and limp sleep near-instantly (though not without a drowsy smile and wag of her tail as she noticed the Bringer). As only the very young could.

Emaleth, however, was not quite so tired; and her curiosity was piqued at the thick scent that began to permeate the den. It awoke something in her— like a memory that was just out of reach— and the child clumsily dashed towards her father, both to greet him and investigate the object in his jaws. As she approached, the scent got stronger, and just before reaching the dark presence of the Bringer she paused to sit and give in to a small fit of sneezes.