Honeyed Pasture dread it, run from it.

Clouds stretched overhead, seemingly whisked up by the lightest touch of a breeze, and then sent tumbling across the skies like weightless giants. The ghost had moved away from the sea for a moment and ventured deeper inland than he had the time before. The further that he seemed to stretch from the shore, the more he could feel himself slipping away. It was as though the cold grip of death was upon him, but only when he was not close enough for her to grasp.
 
Turning to glance back over his shoulder, Smokestep shuddered at the thought of the keeper and what she would have done to him for having ventured to that point. As though she understood, Sandpiper appeared at his side and rested her muzzle against his flank. The pallid beast turned his head slowly to look at the decaying figure of his sister. She looked worse and worse with every day.