Swiftcurrent Creek when the moon sang,

she could always be sweet when it came to gjalla, her steadfast friend. memories of lemon tarts surfaced briefly, a sweetness that lingered on her tongue even now.

you should try it, she murmured, the idea of freedom, of living among the herds, still intoxicating to her. but one day, gjalla, i want you to find your own path. a husband of your own. something that’s yours. her words were tender, encouraging, a quiet push toward something she believed her friend deserved.

she nudged gjalla gently with her nose, a fleeting gesture that carried more than words ever could. promise me you’ll find it.