Gemotions

A chuckle bubbled up from Amelia's throat as she studied the crayon drawing. Tiny Anya had rendered a creature with six arms and a crown made of daisies. "And who is *this*?" Amelia asked, her voice laced with amusement.

Anya, all of five years old, pointed a sticky finger. "He's Sparklehoof! He protects me from the bad dreams." Amelia's eyes traced the bright, frantic lines. Her own Sparklehoof, from a long-ago summer, had been eerily similar. A warmth spread through her chest, a soft glow.

Amelia leaned in for a closer look, her lips tilting upwards. She reached out and ruffled Anya's hair, a gesture of affection and a quiet, joyful recognition. The past, it seemed, wasn't so far away after all.