In the court among the flowers, a small grave has been made. Next to it, upon a bed-sheet shroud, lies Frisk.

Tauriel and the Batman had worked to make Frisk ready for this funeral. She could not bear the thought of laying them to rest as she had found them, and so together, the two of them had cleaned Frisk's body and dressed them in new clothes. Tauriel had bathed their body in many tears as she had worked, for their wounds were grievous and had surely caused them great anguish. She had need, in the end, to find a cloth to wind around their neck, for nothing could cover the wound that had ended their life.

When the work had been carried out, Tauriel had called as many as she could find of the people of the castle to the garden. She cannot be the only one to say farewell to their dearly loved friend.

It took Tauriel a very few days to explore the castle and its grounds to her satisfaction. Though that is not the proper word: there is no satisfaction to be found anywhere in this place. There are no answers, and the grounds are so small compared to the Woodland Realm that she finds herself circling their edge as one caged.

After catching herself in the act of this fruitless pacing too many times, she takes to the trees. They are as wrong as the stars here, and far too young, but at least in their shade she has a reminder of home.

When she sees someone walking through the woods, rather than letting them go about their business, she is frustrated enough to seek out their company. Which she does by suddenly dropping from an overhead branch directly behind them.

"Good day."