Northstar Vale if it be granted

It was time.

Meadow was watching of the Morphe—for all of the events that had occurred over the past week or so, her love for the woman was still strong. Her need for the well-being of Zosime’s Kunosoura flourishing especially now, when the girls would need her the most in the absence of their brother.

Tamar wept—she reached for her—words of apology spilling forth and the silver woman held her fiercely, placing kisses along her brow and crown, trying to console her. It did nothing to alleviate the hollowness that pressed to her chest—but this moment was not about her, nor should it be. And so Meadow would hush her as softly as she could, holding her, and assisting when needed.

Finally, when the boys would come, and Tamar’s relief was palpable, Meadow would draw back, studying them with certain wonder and heartache. This was what she wanted, she realized—but for now, with one last tender kiss to the brows of her closest friend, she allowed the quiet for the family to descend, for Arsenio to greet his new children and removed herself once more to the shadows of Epoch where she had primarily been staying.