Silverlight Terrace her collars of the moonshine's watery beams

Megara lets her muzzle split further in a pleased grin, glad to know that her sister's names—either of them—live on. But she is much more intrigued by the shadow woman who has descended from the mountain; who has spawned miniature versions of her fearsome self. She nods in response to the query, tail swinging gently behind her.

She is a credit to you, Megara croons, as all daughters should be. May other mothers be so lucky. I was quite impressed.

Perhaps they speak at length for a while longer or cut the conversation short, but they eventually drift away, two crones on the wind. Neither of them are long for this world—but if they know it, there is no indication in their strong step nor the proud set of their heads. Women from a different time, indeed.