The wind, normally dancing around these tall Veilheim edges, went still. Cheri - her fur a mix of blue and gold, glowing from the late sun - made a quiet sound, almost like humming deep inside. Instead of calm, she felt tense, pressing her nose into Phoenix’s side. Her wide eyes, bright like dusk, stayed locked on some ground that looked dug up. Phoenix, a strong horse with a golden-pink shine like dawn, moved his legs. Not quite still, his dragon wings spread just a bit, scales along his neck glowing like dropped treasure in sunlight. He felt Cheri’s unease - something they both watched for, guarding this enchanted place together. The magic inside him hummed louder, picking up changes around them - a hush in the breeze, pressure building without sound. “What's up, kiddo?” Phoenix asked. His voice - usually low enough to quiet wolves - now held curiosity instead. He looked where Cheri pointed, moving his eyes slow.”. Over by the jagged stone wall sat a tiny wrapped thing. Made from coarse fabric, held shut with something like old twisted creeper. Part of it stuck out from dusty ground - like whoever put it there meant to hide it fast, or just lost it without care. Yet what really got under their skin wasn't how it looked. It was the weird feeling pouring off it. Cheri lowered her chin, taking a careful breath. Thick air clung to the package - not from mold or rot, yet still off somehow. It seemed ancient, worn down by time. Not loud, just quiet sorrow. A hint of crushed plants, stale and fragile, rose up, blending into some unnamed wistful smell tugging hard behind her ribs. Phoenix dipped his strong head down, close to the bundle - his snout just a breath away. A quiet vibration hit him, tugging at the wild edge inside. Not quite sadness, more like missing something deep, yet still holding on somehow. Like someone murmured hope into empty air, then buried it where only rock would listen. “It feels… heavy,” Cheri murmured, her voice a soft chime. “Like a storm gathering, but inside.” Phoenix poked the bundle with his hoof, making sure not to crush anything. The fabric was oddly cold against his skin, even though sunlight warmed everything around. He pushed once more - this time, one edge slipped loose, showing part of what was inside. Faded petals, still bright in a way that made no sense after so much time, along with thin black stalks. These flattened greens weren't only dried leaves - they carried meaning folded into each brittle piece. “Someone left this,” Phoenix stated, his voice a low rumble. “And it carries their burden with it.” Cheri moved around the package, her hooves brushing the ground with quiet scrapes. Not from excitement - but something deeper tugged at her. Light flickered near her skin, steady, like breath. Anything magical usually caught her eye without trying. Yet this thing? It didn’t hum or glow - just sat there, odd in its silence. It wasn't the cheeky glow of a trickster elf, but something quiet - like pale light resting on a flower shut tight. Not old force from some watching soul, just soft magic, hushed and still. "Check it out?" Cheri said, looking at Phoenix. Her normal spark faded under the thing’s heavy vibe. Phoenix’s glowing eyes - gold with hints of green - squinted slightly. Protector by nature. Bound tight to Veilheim, people and spirits alike, no exceptions. Whatever got left behind, on purpose or not, if it carried that deep sorrow, he had to look into it. “Carefully,” he responded. “We will not disturb it more than necessary. But we cannot leave it here, carrying its weight alone.” Phoenix nudged the bundle loose with his nose, soft-like. Out it came, soil stuck to it like it didn’t wanna let go. He clamped down on it lightly, fabric scraping his tongue. A thick stillness hung around, pressing slow against his skin. Cheri strolled next to him, moving slower now, paying close attention to every sound. When they left the cliff behind, heading into the covered stretches of the lower hills where their hideout sat, the atmosphere shifted a bit - almost like sorrow stuck right there at the edge. They stepped into their hideout - a snug, sunlit nook hewn from stone, heated by threads of raw light magic. Phoenix set the package down gently onto a cushion of green moss. Inside the warm flicker of that private space, it didn’t feel heavy anymore; instead, sorrow shifted into a silent wish for connection. Cheri moved closer, curiosity shifting from wary to kind. She gave the bundle another little push, then - using her softly lit paw - she started loosening the vine. Old and stiff, the knot finally let go, coming apart like something long buried but suddenly remembered. The fabric opened up, showing neatly dried plants tucked inside. Lavender branches lay there - smell soft yet clear, bringing calm vibes. Tiny forget-me-nots sat beside them, color worn out but spirit strong, hinting at old memories. Chamomile strands curled gently, known for easing worried minds. A handful of unknown greenery caught her eye, dark purple leaves like velvet, giving off a gentle sweetness that nearly made her breathe deeper. "It's... amazing," Cheri whispered, eyes wide with wonder - yet heavy at the same time Phoenix stared at the herbs, eyes sharp. His glow, normally bright, softened a bit, almost like it sensed the sadness in the bunch. The dry leaves held leftover feelings - strong yearning mixed with silent ache, tied together by deep affection. “These are not herbs for healing a broken bone, Cheri,” Phoenix said, his voice soft. “These are herbs for a broken spirit.” He nudged a sprig of lavender with his nose. “Lavender for peace. Forget-me-nots, for a love that will not be forgotten. Chamomile, for solace. And this,” he indicated the purple herb, “this feels like… a wish. A wish for something lost, to be found again.” Cheri grabbed one tiny forget-me-not, soft as a moth’s wing. When her glow brushed it, the bloom pulsed with pale blue - just for a heartbeat - and then she saw something. There stood a filly, fur silver like dusk, right at that same cliff edge where they’d found the sack. Instead of speaking, she cried silently, drops spilling onto plants held gently between her teeth. The look in her eyes? Heavy. Full of missing someone, sorta like how thick the silence had been before dawn. The moment vanished fast - Cheri felt a dull throb deep inside. "I... caught sight of her, Phoenix. The woman who dropped this behind. She carried such heavy sorrow." Phoenix nodded, his own empathy a powerful force. “She was heartbroken. Cheri, these herbs were gathered with intention, pressed with care, and left with a silent prayer. It is a message, a plea.” He looked at Cheri, his loyal, light-hearted companion. “We are protectors. We can’t allow such sorrow to linger unclaimed. What can we do to help this spirit find peace?” Cheri paused briefly, her bright gaze turning inward. Though sorrow weighed heavy, underneath bubbled something lighter - maybe hope; after all, dropping off that package felt like a quiet belief in better things ahead. “Perhaps,” Cheri began, her voice gaining a gentle strength, “we can honor her wish. We can add our own light to it. We can send it back out into the world, but with hope, not just sadness.” Phoenix’s wings flickered softly. "In what way, tiny friend?" “We can imbue it,” Cheri explained, her light element beginning to glow brighter, weaving around the herbs. “We can take the light and the love that we have for Veilheim, the peace and the joy we feel, and weave it into her sadness. We can send her a message of comfort, of understanding.” Phoenix nodded. Next to Cheri, his light flared - soft gold swirling into her pale blue glow. Both aimed their power at the dried herbs. Not wiping away sorrow, just wrapping it gently with calm, like a blanket laid over something fragile. They stitched in moments from sunny fields, while giggles of tiny creatures danced through. Yet woven deep was courage picked from old tree roots standing firm. Though soft care shaped each petal’s curve, where whispers lived between veins of green. When their light magic moved, the thick air near the bundle started fading, swapped out for a quiet, soothing heat. The smell of the plants felt richer - less about pain, more like a calm kind of promise. That violet plant? It looked lit from within, its hope now wrapped in kindness instead of force. Once done, the bundle sat on the moss - changed. Sadness lingered, just a whisper, yet wrapped in calm. Cheri pushed it gently with her snout; another image flashed, only this wasn't like before. The young horse stood at the edge, still near the drop, but no more tears fell. Her mouth curled slightly, body relaxed, almost at ease, like something heavy had settled. “She felt it,” Cheri whispered, her heart feeling lighter. “She knows she’s not alone.” Phoenix nodded, a deep satisfaction settling over him. “Her burden has been acknowledged. And now, it is lighter.” They fixed the bundle again - this time using a soft thread made of moon glow instead of that old, cracked vine, showing how their hope still held strong. Then they placed it up on a rocky edge, out in the open where sunlight and breeze would touch it, like a quiet sign of comfort. When they stepped out, Veilheim's breeze met them like an old friend nudging their shoulders. The sky seemed lighter, easier to breathe. Cheri glanced at the rocky wall behind, where the little bundle shrank into a distant dot on the slope. Phoenix stood quiet, watching it fade into the wide open land. They didn't fix everything - pain doesn’t vanish fast. Still, they’d reached through the shadows, gave something small when she had nothing left. Not cure, just care. Not answers, only presence. By acting this way, they’d quietly shown - not only to each other but maybe to Veilheim itself - that even when sorrow runs deep, moments of warmth can still slip through, kindness finds a path, yet bonds hold quiet strength. They now saw their role wasn’t merely watching over borders or buildings, instead it meant caring for the people who lived there, touching lives, lifting moods bit by bit.