Siscella rode Thunder through the dense forests of Avaloria, the rhythmic clopping of his hooves a comforting soundtrack to her solitude. The towering trees above created a canopy of leaves that dappled the sunlight, casting fleeting shadows on her path. She savoured these moments away from the relentless demands of her position, where the whispers of the forest and the scent of pine allowed her a brief respite from her troubled thoughts.

Thunder, ever the faithful companion, trotted along with a steady gait, his ears flicking in response to the sounds of the wild. She reached down, stroking his mane absently, finding solace in the simple, tactile connection. As they emerged from a particularly thick grove, the path widened, revealing a solitary figure in the distance.

Siscella’s keen eyes narrowed, her hand instinctively moving to the pommel of her sword. The traveller’s posture, the way they walked, and even their silhouette were hauntingly familiar. Her heart skipped a beat, a rush of memories flooding back—memories she had tried to bury deep within her. The scene of the ambush, the desperate weeks of evasion, and the painful decision that had branded her soul with regret. Could it be? Could this traveller be Anon, the comrade she had abandoned so long ago?

Thunder sensed her tension, his pace slowing as they approached the traveller. Siscella’s mind raced, torn between hope and fear. What if it was Anon? How would they react upon seeing her? She dismounted silently, her armour clinking softly, and approached the figure. “Hail, traveller,” she called out, her voice a blend of command and caution.

The figure turned, and as their eyes met, Siscella’s breath caught in her throat. The resemblance was undeniable, yet the look in their eyes was one of caution, not recognition. Siscella’s heart pounded as she took a step closer, her voice softening, “Have we met before?” The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken guilt and the fragile thread of hope.