Artume had found The Glade when she was very young.

It had been beautiful then and, she hoped, it would be beautiful now. From what she remembered, it should have escaped the ravages of the flames, but she couldn't be certain.

But as she walked, she recognized landmarks. There, the marks on that tree where she had scraped her budding antlers. The tree that twisted around another. The tree with pink petals.

And before long, she was approaching the Glade.

Artume took her time.

She had all the time in the world, after all. Eridanus was beautiful, and was no longer burning. This part of the forest hadn't burnt, but that which had was already beginning to show signs of new life.

She grazed, nipping at various fruits that grew on the bushes and trees. The plants in Eridanus were always the best, lush and juicy. No matter where she traveled, Eridanus would be home.

It was... not quite as beautiful as she remembered it. The flowers were long gone, and it didn't look as healthy. The plants were no longer blooming and flourishing, instead looking dry and sickly. But she intended on returning it back to full health, no matter what it took. This was to be her home.

Ahead, she could see where she had spent many nights. A pair of weeping willows, which guarded the entrance to a roomy cave dug into the ground. The mossy leaves were long gone, the willows dry and plain, with just bare branches left, and it saddened her.

She could use her magic to bring the glade back to its former beauty, but she didn't dare start with the Willows. So, instead, she turned to a nearby tree - what she remembered to have been an apple tree sapling. It hadn't grown much, but she leaned forward, and breathed on it.

The tree perked up some, and gained some color back in its leaves. A few, puny flowers grew among its leaves.

Artume twitched her ears as she eyed the poorly looking sapling, her Magicka having done very little to help it. She took a deep breath, shaking her head, and leaned down to sniff at it. Reaching inside her self, she felt for her Magicka, but it didn't seem to react.

Nibbling at one of the leaves, she twitched her tail. There was no taste to it that indicated sickness, so she couldn't understand what was wrong with the plants in the Glade.

The deer took a deep breath, and leaned down to gently touch her velvety muzzle to the bark of the sapling. This time, her magick reacted, sending a warmth through her as she breathed life into the plant. She leaned back as it began to grow, straightening up and growing several inches in height, gathering a handsome brown in color of its bark, leaves turning a lush green, and growing beautiful, pink flowers.

Artume went to step away from the apple sapling, before looking back at it, wondering. Could she, perhaps, make it grow even further? She hadn't explored her magick much, yet, so she didn't know what each of her spells was capable of.

So she stepped towards the sapling, and lowered her head, pressing her nose to it once more. But there was no answering surge of Magic, nothing to suggest that she had done anything.

The deer took a deep breath, stepping back from the apple tree. She could allow it to grow under its own power at this point - she had given it the boost it needed, now it would sink or swim under its own strength.

Stepping back, she looked around. Her conical ears twitched, and she became aware of the dryness of the grass beneath her hooves. Lowering her head, she sniffed at it, attempting to send her magic into it. But there was no answering pull, or glow, or gleam.

Artume took a deep breath, frowning as her magic didn't seem to want to her obey her. But she was determined to return life to this once-beautiful glade, so she closed her eyes, and tried again.

There was a flicker in her hoof, a valiant attempt from her magic to do as she bid. The grass in a small area around her seemed to perk up, becoming a few shades darker, but little changed.

Artume frowned, shaking her head. The grass could do much better than this - she could do much better than this. So she circled, and pulled at her magic, pushing it at the grass.

And then pain.

The grass died around her, screaming in her ears. She bugled, rearing up on her hind legs as her gem sent pain radiating up her leg.

And then she knew nothing.

Oh, everything hurt.

Artume came to slowly, everything disjointed. She blinked, seeing brown and green blurs, and moaned weakly, closing her eyes again as her head throbbed.

Her magic ran rampant, escaping with a huffed breath. The grass in front of her began to bloom, taking back the life that she had ripped from it some time before.