Little Goat Mountain never stop looking up

she watches the woman that watches the sky, struck into motionless. mother. dark pelt, green eyes. where her mother had dappled white, the woman is spotted with dew. she blinks, hating the burning behind her eyes. it is as if staring into a memory, save the fact she's never been here before. the melonii breaths barely, as if any movement might startle away the figment. 

the girl squeezes shut her eyes, willing back the spreading feeling. she is a warrior. she has no time to wish for things lost. cassiopeia is dead, and scylla is gone, and she is here. she shifts, preparing to leave just as quickly and silently as she'd come. but she finds herself hesitating, unwilling. 

she lets out her breath all at once, turning back toward the woman. cautiously, somewhat stiff and ever-wary, she approaches, slipping out from the shadows and into sight. this is not her mother. too young, eyes a shade too dark, alive and breathing. she stops a stone's throw away, gaze flicking up to the heavens and back at her. "hello." it's a start.