Her previous notions about the source of her power have been cast aside. The Jungle has returned to infancy, its magic a tiny trickle that threatens to become a rainstorm - soon. Sunday, however, feels her abilities pulse beneath her skin like beta alanine. She can sense emotions rolling off those around her - it used to floor her, but she's learned to quiet it. Not silence it, just quiet. And the healing? It's splotchy, but her success rate is closer to 50% these days. Nothing too serious, nothing too war torn, just little things. Piecing it all together. Letting the pieces fall.

Sunday, for once, is happy.

The Amazons shelter her from her worries of the past. Diplomacy gives her a duty she's never had before, and she's fallen into it in stride. She loves to chat, she loves to meet and meld and lately the Amazons prove to be tough for that. The changes among Beqanna's kingdoms make the kingdoms stifling and heady. She prefers the cool calm of the free air, the meadow. Somewhere.

So she roams. A chestnut mare without anything too interesting about her, except being blemish free and obviously not a creature of war. She looks pleasant enough, no resting bitch face here - just a congenial smile. Sunday, ever approachable, ever forgiving her past.