There were days when the unreality of it all seeped past her defenses; when the sunlight dimmed and the world took on the shadow-like quality of dreams, and only she was real.
Cat would find her, sitting under a tree by the side of the trail, running fingers over bark and grass and dirt that felt like ghosts. He’d sit a few feet away -watching her with the same look she’d used on Heather when her daughter had thrown tantrums for the sake of throwing tantrums- until she’d look up at him. Then the world would shiver back into place, and the fear would slink back into hiding, chased away by disapproving yellow eyes.
Then she’d get up, brush off the dirt, and catch back up to the caravan with the untamable black horse, the unicorn with a broken horn, and the quest her daughter had left her.
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