The Caravan of Lionguide would travel westward across the Wingfeline Fields, beginning trek with the first monarch. At the end of midsummer, the great butterflies would commence their migration to the rainforest beyond, and so too would the Lionguide. The Blue Caravan, as it was called, swathed the rolling country side; a mighty river trudging dutifully along throughout the prairie highland, their destination naught but a valley, small and uninspiring, but sacred as all one could imagine, and so the Blue Road was long, winding, and untreacherous.

Ameli sat nested comfortably upon the coach, the wild flowers passing as departing streams beneath her dangling feet. Now was a time of contemplation, of rest, and reflection before the Hallow Rite, but her heart sat heavier, in discord, for reasons she did not quite comprehend. She could look out and see the mighty Blue Caravan ribboning backward like her mother’s shawl in…