She did not trust herself to speak. When he turned away from her, a soft wind picked up. It danced through his hair and sent his new cloak billowing out behind him. She caught a bare glimpse of his wing. In the moonlight, it shone as bright and clear as a pane of shattered glass. Clarion stayed on the bridge until he vanished into the tree cover, until the clouds overhead gave way and gentle rain began to fall. She stood alone in Spring as the scent of petrichor rose around her, staring out at the cold emptiness of Winter. It would call her home for the rest of her long life.
