She is the opposite of him.
She hates being normal.
She would give almost anything to have her magics back. Preferably the ones that let her play in time, but she would even settle for the much peskier ability (or curse – half the time she’s not sure) to speak to the dead. So anyway she is in a terrible mood, stuck in the awful, regular speed present time. The little strawberry mare is even lonely – she had dumped her mostly-grown daughters on her grandfather, and not even been with them when the fae ripped the magics from the world, and now she isn’t quite sure where to find them.
But she has figured out that the Tundra is gone, as is the Falls, and so her grandfather is most likely homeless, which is why she’s here, traipsing through the crowded Meadow looking for them. And honestly, it shouldn’t be this hard. One’s blue, one’s purple, one’s covered in scars, two of them may or may not have wings, and one may or may not look like a zombie. Which is a lot of weird for three horses, so Kellyn can’t imagine they’re blending well.
She is so involved with her own thoughts, gaze skimming the far away horses, that she doesn’t see him until she runs into him. “Hey!” she yelps the response, bouncing back. He’s not huge but Kellyn is little, so she looks up at him, frowning. Realizes that maybe she’s in the wrong, and the socially polite thing to do is apologize. Which she isn’t great at, by principle. “Sorry,” she forces the word out, and then tilts her head. “I’m looking for a blue roan girl who may or may not have wings, a purple girl who may or may not look half dead, and a bay stallion covered in scars who may or may not have wings. I don’t suppose you’ve seen them?”
daughter of cagney and elite