Dawn had come at last, the first rays of sunlight driving the long storm out and away over the island. The war was over, and if the land and people are wounded, theirs are wounds that will heal in time. Niamh had never been particularly religious. She preferred to put her trust in her own two hands than anyone she couldn't see. Still, there were times when it didn't pay to seem ungrateful. She knelt in the open plain before her city, holding the last flower of the season, shielding it from the last strong winds of the storm, and her thoughts turned to those she loved, and those she had fought against. She could smell them all, their memories still lodged in every grain of her fur and her clothes, and she hoped they would all find peace in their own way.

Art belongs to Clemikou: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/clemikou

Niamh Lohan belongs to me.