As his final teardrops sank into dry earth between Seymour's own hooves and the roots of this great, sacred tree; Seymour rose to his full height. Nodding a farewell to the setting sun, it fell over the horizon and marked the end of his time at this shrine. It was time to move on.
Seymour had taken not three steps before a quiet whooshing sound alerted him to a new presence. His sharp hooves gouged the soil as he wheeled around. He was greeted by a distorted silhouette that shone like ...
