Wapun Meadow why don't you run from me?

another red beast come to her meadow, dredging to the surface a memory that would not quit. 

and every time she looked at her daughter, she saw it again — 

ghost, spectre, shade. 

wherever indra was now, astara hoped her soul rotted in everlasting anguish. 

she picked along the needle strewn path after the red tracker, suspicious. she made no move to conceal her pursuit — what if this was another saint come to darken her doorstep?