When last Enabran had seen these ruins, they had disappeared behind the black rot of a great draconic blight, and he had fled from the shadow of her wings along with the rest of those gathered to answer the crystal's call. Now, beneath a dreary grey sky and the shadow of the crumbling monolith, the blue stallion stood unbeckoned.

The blue stallion gazed wistfully up to where he knew the crystal to be, not so much at the object itself but at the nebulous absence the crystal should have represented. Allmother, the shadeweaver had called her. His people had two mothers - one of light, one of the forest - but only one would the sindrene have ever dreamed to beseech for guidance and aid. What sort of mother was this one?

His mind had been racing for what felt like days, ruminating endlessly on the gristle of what had happened in the Grotto and all that had come before - way, way back before he'd broken his leg, to when he could first recall properly understanding the virtues. How emphatically he had professed his desire to pull back the veil and see the truth of all things, blissfully ignorant of Knowing's unbearable weight. How swiftly, too, he had stumbled upon his first peek behind the curtain. And, now that his heart ached with contrition, the Shining Weald and his goddess were both irretrievably beyond reach. Impeccable timing, as always, Bran.

The click, click, clicking of the dragon's claws echoed in the silence around him. He shuddered, steeled himself with a tremulous breath, and beseeched the silent goddess with the anxious humility of a man with nothing left to his name but the hat in his hands.

"Allmother," Enabran murmured to the empty sky, "I am a stranger to Mythos, and I'd understand if you have greater concerns than a foreigner's guilty conscience. But I am an honest man." He squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to the private safety of his own skull. "When I was young, I begged the goddess of my people for the privilege of Understanding, and the first time she showed herself to me, I retreated. Into myself, and then from the Forest."

Had he flown far enough now to Understand? Could he ever fly far enough? He wondered if Sindri could still hear him somehow, across the distance.

"I may never again have the opportunity to atone for my transgression, and I will bear that burden as my just reward. I come now as a child who has failed, begging you - who bear the wounds of others' failures - for another chance to understand the Truth."