Private Tales The Mountain Pass

Where had these Vraexamore come from?! More importantly, where were they going to? And why out of all the paths within the Spine, did her and Valdr run into them on one to Tarlik-Za? What business could they have with that goblin town?

These thoughts raced through Petra's head while her eyes flitted between each scout. Counting and analyzing where best her arrows would cause chaos. Now three arrows down, she readied her fourth. The adrenaline pumping through her veins giving her strength to draw at speed. She tried to keep a constant eye on Valdr's progress. She now trusted his competency in battle; what she didn't trust, was bad luck catching him broadside.

Speaking of which, she watched him take the impact of a hammer to his back. Almost unsaddling him, if not for the years of training he must have possessed. She inwardly cringed in sympathy for the blow. Hoping he wasn't too dazed or winded to retaliate.

But just in case he was; Petra aimed for the throat of the man who swung, but he was in motion and the arrow went through the side of his cheek at an angle and towards the back of his head. His mouth unable to close as he screamed and grabbed for his bloodied face. His thrashing movements confusing his mount that already danced in place from the skirmish. The horse reared backwards, throwing its body into another in its attempt to get away. The rider of the impacted horse scrambled for his reins while his horse tried to duck away from the other.

There was confusion and yelling, but Petra was too far to hear. Instead she nocked another arrow and sent it into the growing frenzy. Satisfaction pulling a snarling smile from her mouth when she heard the tell-tale scream of another target hit.

Whilst grabbing another arrow, her quiver now emptied to less than half, she looked upwards to the sky. Scanning the clouds in hope of the flying form of her dragon. Where the fuck was he? Petra tried focusing on the gilded chord of their bond, she felt herself searching inwardly, searching for whatever bright corner it constantly hummed from.

There, close to her heart, the cord pulsed in a sopranic melody, as if in rejoicement at her attention. Grabbing hold, she sent down a flash of urgency. The thundering of her heartbeat at the thrill of battle and fear of possible death traveled with it.

She waited. Her eyes closing for less than a breath. Hoping.

An encouraging shout left Petra's throat as she watched Valdr and Toron fight. The war steed, as well as the ground beneath him, was becoming soaked with blood as the horse Valdr slaughtered bled out. She hoped Toron was sure-footed and would avoid slipping in the now growingly muddy and slick pathway that was peppered with corpses.

When would these scouts give up? Yes, they were outnumbered at least eight to one. But she hoped that they would soon turn tail and retreat in light of her and her companions' ferocity and skill.

But it wasn't until the she-elf had released her ninth arrow into the gut of a man that had risen up in his saddle behind Valdr, as if to tackle him from his saddle atop Toron. That Petra realized her mistake in yelling from her vantage point.

The Vraexamorean scouts obviously knew that the Warden traveled with an archer, but it wasn't until they had lost a few numbers that they actually finally decided to take out the ranged threat.

An order shouted from within the fray, and a trio of riders broke off from the group that had been clamoring and dancing around Valdr. The sweat drenched coursers frothing at their bits and lunging towards where she crouched not 100 yards next to a sharp boulder that speared up from the flesh of the earth.

Her eyes widened at their approach. Fuck. She only had a single arrow left.

She stepped out from the shadow of the boulder. Her stance wide as she stood in the center of the path.

So be it. Cowardace be damned. May they ride to their fate with a toothy grin on her face.

The humming in her chest began an insistent staccato. The ebbing thrum of it vibrating into her jaw.
Gritting her teeth, Petra drew her bow and aimed for the opening in the center rider's helmet. She breathed in. Timing it with the rise and fall of the horse's canter. Breath out. She could see his eyes now. They were a curious shade of blue. Pretty, she noted.

Her talons released the string and the arrow flew on a whine into the eye of the center rider. The force of her shot had snapped his head back and he went limp, his body sagging back in the saddle, his horse already slowing it's race forward.

She had no time to celebrate the best shot she had made this entire shit show. She was out of arrows.
Instead, she tossed her bow off into the grass and drew a dirk from her left thigh. The blade almost as long as the length of her forearm. She gripped the handle so the blade was facing down. Her arms rising to hover in front of her face, assuming a bent and wide kneed stance.

Her expression stoic and focused. The frenzied humming growing in intensity. The last two riders less than 50 yards from her. Unperturbed by their fallen comrade. She had to time this right, or she would find herself at the business end of one of their swords. And she couldn't take a chance to glance at Valdr and his progression. All she could hear were the clangs of blades against armor and the yells of enraged men. She hoped he could hold out.

The thundering of hoofbeats echoed the blood that pounded in her ears. She had to trust her body to know how to move, to know how to fight and survive.

She squeezed her grip on the handle of her dirk, stretching the claws at the ends of her free right hand. She had yet to use them. And now, with her life on the line, seemed as good as time as any, to test their mettle.
"Because being a dragon rider had to be worth something for the parts of myself I sacrificed." She thought wryly to herself.

Five yards out and the rider on the left was met with a grisly end as a thrown spear punctured out from his chest, all she registered was the split second of shock on his dead face before toppling from his saddle in a tangled mess of limbs.

No time to waste on thoughts of gratitude towards her warden companion. He must be doing well enough in his own skirmish to have taken a moment to even her odds. Truly a gentleman.

In a split second, Petra realized Valdr was no longer in danger from her songweaving, but only if she used it against this rider that was now far enough from him. In the next moment, the elf launched forward, a song of earth on her tongue. Calling to it, encouraging it to form to her will. Matching the frequency that rock and dirt all vibrated within. It came from her throat in a guttural tone, the true song of earth was a mighty thing. But hard to hold for long or in a vast radius.

The rider was upon her, racing towards her right side where his sword raised and a sneer twisted his boyish features.

It all happened so fast.

The earth beneath his horse seemed to turn from solid ground to liquid and then back again in a split second. But it was enough. The moment his horse’s hooves hit the viscous soil, at the speed it was going, it was as if someone had cut the strings of a puppet and everything came to halt. His horse sunk into the earth, its body crashing and then breaking when the ground solidified around it once again. An equine scream had Petra’s stomach dropping out in guilt. But it was unavoidable.

The hind end of the horse tilted up as its front sank and crashed. Petra ducked in close and shot out her draconic arm in the same moment, horrified with how easily her claws gripped and tore through the flesh of its throat; a quicker death she hoped.

Simultaneously, she flipped her knife so the blade was pointing back up. The rider having been thrown forward from the momentum, Petra swung up and sideways into the throat of the scout.

Within the few seconds this occured, there was blood. So much blood. And she was moving still with the dying bodies of both. Grunting with effort, she found herself panting from the tension. She had been fast enough. The earth had listened to her song. And they were dead.

The rider’s body slumped forward and fell partially on top of her. Her nose filled with the copper stench of death as his head settled on her shoulder and strained under his weight frmo the awkward angle. Letting go of her dagger and releasing her claws from the horse’s throat, she grabbed the scout by his shoulders and heaved him off of her. His body wilted onto the ground, the thud of impact pulling a soft frown on her face.

Sweat plastered her white bangs to her forehead and the escaped black curls of her ponytail to the back of her neck. She noted the blood that covered the front of her torso and right arm. Dripping from the tips of her claws. Soaking into the hungry earth beneath her feet.

Sounds of a shield taking impact drew her attention back to Valdr, she couldn’t see his face past his winged helmet. But she had the impression he was thoroughly enjoying himself. She tensed from the movement she saw behind the warden, but it was only three riders turning tail and riding North. North away from them. North towards where they were headed. Fuck. They had to be stopped. But she was out of arrows.

Well, at least, out of arrows that weren’t in bodies.

Running, she slid into the dirt and grabbed her long bow, almost losing her grip from the blood. Turning back and racing back towards the fight. Intent on salvaging enough arrows to take out the outriders, or at least as many as she could if she was quick enough.

It wasn’t until she had ran a few yards that she realized the scout she had stabbed had been successful in a last ditch effort of retaliation. Her left shoulder stung from where he sliced open her arm.

No matter. She gritted her teeth and pumped her arms harder. She would not be bested by a lucky shot.

The gilded bond near her heart thrummed in what she could only interpret as anger. No... Rage.. It was a rage brewing from the other end. And she could feel it clouding her vision with a vengeful red haze. Where was Norvyk and what was happening to him?

Petra wiped the blood from her arrow shaft on her pant leg after she yanked it from the head of the center rider. She tried not to shudder too much from the squelch it made being pulled from the poor man's head. She was hurriedly singing an elvish death prayer through gritted teeth. Her eyes never leaving Valdr as he battled alone.

Armed with a single arrow, she desperately looked for the white fletching among the dead and the wounded. She was sure that many would be not easily recoverable or the wooden shafts too destroyed to even shoot.

The growing intensity of the humming she felt from in her chest, coupled with her adrenaline, and the growing tiredness of her limbs, was causing her hands to shake and lose their bloodied grip on the second arrow she was trying to pull from a body.

She looked up again at the warden astride his horse. But as she watched, between one moment and the next, he was on the ground amongst dancing hooves and angry men.

Hurry hurry hurry, fuck hurry. She chanted to herself. Realizing she would have to abandon the fleeing outriders and aid Valdr instead. The slice in her arm twinged painfully. With a growl of frustration she let go of the arrow and instead picked up a fallen sword from the ground. So be it.

She was about to charge forward into the fray when a thunderous roar stopped her in her tracks. Her heart leaping in response to that same draconic rage pulsing through her bond.


**************
NORVYK


They dared? These crawling and insolent insects that the Warden now swatted at like flies, dared to interfere and touch what was his? He would not suffer the disrespect.

He had felt the original battle of chaos echo from his rider and into his own mind. He had not deigned to give it much thought, trusting in both Petra's and her companions' battle prowess to overcome whatever it was. Although he did decide to return and fly within the vicinity, just in case. But it was when the pain and the fear washed through him from her side that he felt the first stirrings of bloodlust.

An ear-splitting and metallic screech ripped from his throat and echoed between the spires of the Spine. Lightning crackled from his snarling maw, dancing down the scales of his throat and over the leathery flesh of his wings.

Norvyk was a creature of storms, his was a kind from legend. He was born to tear with tooth and claw and render flesh from bone as he screamed his supremacy to the heavens. He was a force of nature and he would show the hearts of men the primal fear they had forgotten before the days of kings and magic. He would show them the ire of a vengeful dragon.

With the anticipation of hot blood between his teeth, he crested into the foothills where Petra fought. Eyes immediately finding the form of his Rider and how she stood, transfixed and covered in blood, yet alive. Relief briefly washed over him before finding where the warden was standing with a spear in the throat of an insect. The litany of corpses between Valdr and Petra filled the dragon with dark rejoycement.

Ah, but what was this? A trio of cowardly men had somehow escaped? Did they not know they were dead men walking? He laughed nefariously. No matter, he would inform them with due haste.

Letting loose another cacophonous roar, he tucked his wings and dropped from the sky like a reckoning. The horses fleeing with a frenetic desperation. They were prey, and they knew he was hunting them. The men astride yelled in fear, shouting and urging their horses to gallop faster. The whites of their eyes and the foam from their gaping mouths filled the dragon with a hungry pleasure.

Among the trio, there was a faster horse. One not as tired as the rest. It broke off ahead and left the other two in a neck and neck struggle to outrun Death. But he had come with ill tidings and he wasn't so easily dissuaded.

Norvyk flared his wings mere moments before dropping onto the straggling two horses with the force of a battering ram. Dust and blood flew. Equine screams tore through the air with the yells of dying men as the sound of ripping flesh echoed with the bellows of the dragon's violent fury.

The flagging tail of the remaining horse and rider continued on their path to freedom. The last scout of this Vraexamore outfit.


Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar

In her peripheral vision, Petra could see Valdr was slaying the last of the men. Their dying yells sobered her own battlelust. She knew that same desire to stay alive. That deeply innate and primal urge to fight with all you had so you could draw another breath. And the rage that went hand in hand with denial when that choice was taken from you. It was not something she ever took for granted.

From her songweaving she learned the sanctity of life, and how much life there was in everything. A voice in the trees, the animals, and the earth. She could hear those same voices and she found the music of the world to be a sacred thing. Every voice was beautiful and unique. Some soft and some loud. And much to her chagrin, many that told a story of sorrow and pain with the melancholic chords of their souls. But Petra had found over the years that with focus and skill, she could heal those wounds or even influence the emotions of others. Though in these men’s final moments. All she could do was chant a generic death prayer quietly under breath.

While she walked towards Valdr, she watched her dragon in wonder. He had answered her call. He may have still left in a huff, but he came back when it mattered. And that warmed her heart more than anything.

The sucking sound of a sword being pulled from a body brought her back to reality. Valdr had finally killed the last of them.

She rolled her left shoulder when he asked her about her condition, motioning to the cut that still openly bled. “I’ve had worse, but thank you. You appear to have taken a beating, but I’m glad to see you are still in one piece. I am very grateful indeed that you offered your escort when you did. Granted, I probably would have just flown away.” She laughed self-deprecatingly. “I happen to know my abilities against odds like that.” Now that the tension of battle was gone, the afterglow of relief was poignant and gave room for laughter.

She spoke with Valdr for a few more moments before excusing herself and making her way towards Norvyk. Where he had begun ripping apart the bodies of the horses and was gleefully partaking in his battle spoils.

The dragon seemed absorbed in his meal. Holding down pieces of meat while he tore from it with his teeth. Cautiously she approached, her hand out in greeting. "Norvyk?"

Upon hearing his name, he snapped around with a vicious growl, his tail whipping past her face and almost hitting her. Startled, Petra jerked back. Unsure if her dragon even recognized her as friend or foe.

His maw was curled up in a tight snarl. His serrated teeth were bloodied and covered in carnage. They stared at each other, frozen in that suspended moment. Then suddenly she saw Norvyk’s tight slitted pupils relax and his mouth closed. The coiled tension left his large body. He dipped his head, almost as if in apology. Stepping away from his feast and closer to her, he gently sniffed her up and down. Pausing near her arm, noting where her blood mixed with that of their enemies. A grumbling tenor came from his chest, "Little Lark. It seems I was not quick enough. I am… I am sorry. You are my Rider and I failed you.” His voice teetered off in a disgruntled huff.

Petra was shocked, all she had known from this dragon was restraint, hubris, and snark. And here he was apologizing to her because she had gotten hurt, even when she considered it nowhere near his fault?

The dragon’s head hovered in front of her, refusing to meet her eyes, lost in his own self criticisms. Hesitantly, Petra raised her scaled right hand and placed it along Norvyk’s cheek. His eyes flicked to her in surprise. He didn’t move, watching her warily.

“If what you have told me is true. Then we are one and the same now. Bonded warriors. Fighting side by side. Destined for great and terrible things.” Petra paused, raising her eyebrows and leaning closer to emphasize her point. "Which means we must learn to trust each other. Because only then will we find true Harmony, my friend.” She smiled gently. An olive branch between two creatures who were just starting to understand each other.

A warm sound vibrated in Norvyk’s throat like the purring of a giant cat. And to her surprise he pressed his head into her chest and closed his eyes. With a delighted laugh she wrapped her other arm around the black horns that swept back from the crown of his head. She cradled his head as his purring threatened to rattle her teeth.

These were the kinds of moments that gave her hope. And as long as the strong voice of her dragon sang in chorus with her, she knew they could take on any evil this harsh and discordant world sent their way

Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar

Norvyk raised his head at Valdr's approach, blowing a friendly gust of warm air at the Warden. His tail lashing quietly when Valdr dabbed at the gore on his jaw with a handkerchief. The dragon's mood was tolerant, content after the joy of battle and fresh meat. At the Warden's advice, the dragon stretched his body, arching his back and lifting his wings above them. He opened his mouth in a mighty yawn, the evidence of his gory lunch stuck between several of his massive fangs.

Petra stood with her arms crossed, smirking at the bunch. Noting quickly, how sticky and cold the blood on her skin was becoming. She needed to change her clothes. A bath would be even better. Thinking absently of her own gear she would have to go back and collect. But now that the adrenaline was leaving her system, she could feel the familiar pull of exhaustion dragging at her limbs. And she struggled to stifle her own yawn.

Sighing, she ran her normal hand through her bangs. Cringing when she felt the blood that was in her hair.
Tiredly, she suggested outloud, "I would like to go a bit farther today But I don't think we will be reaching Eredale tonight as we had planned. We'll have to campout in the foothills."

The green dragon beside her, snorted in agreeance. He would hunt down dinner for them tonight. So even though they would be tired, they would be eating well.

Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar

Nodding her head in agreement, she patted Norvyk on his shoulder.
"Thankfully, there aren't many beasts that would mess with us while we have a dragon sleeping at our side. As for a horse that would be willing to ride near Norvyk after he spooked them half to death-"

"And then ate them for the other half." The dragon interjected smugly. Petra snorted in response. Shaking her head without further comment. Her exhaustion leaving her without much energy to put into engaging with more than the bare minimum. But Valdr's suggestion was a good one. She didn't want to walk anymore. And the thought of riding Norvyk with her blisters made her cringe.

She looked over her shoulder, back towards the rock that hid her pack. And she noted there was a blood smeared grey pelt of a scout's horse a small distance from even that. Sighing, she grumbled something about returning in due course and walked back.

***

Upon approach to the horse, she could see that the blood on it's body was not it's own. Although it did make for a rather garrish effect. She spoke to it softly, its ears flicking back and forth nervously. Blowing at her in alert.

"I know... I know, darling. It's been a hard day,." She extended her hand normal hand out when she was a couple yards away. A calming melody colored the air around her. "Easy... there. You're alright. I'm not here to hurt you." The horse reached out and warily smelled her hand and Petra cautiously raised her other hand and began stroking its neck placatingly. The gelding, as she now realized, blew out a breath from its nostrils and dropped its head in acceptance. "See? I'm not so bad. Atta boy. C'mon." She reached for his broken reins and walked him back to her pack. Her arm petting his neck all the while.

Once she had secured her pack, she used a rock to climb into the saddle. Noting more blood stains in the leather. Her own handiwork. Frowning slightly, Petra gathered her reins and made her way back to her companions. The horse beneath her balked and danced sideways the closer she got to the green dragon. But instead of forcing him forward, she kept that calming melody going. Reaching with her magic towards the horse and urging it to trust her. But she felt from the creature that it wasn't because it didn't trust her, it didn't trust the goddamn dragon that stank of horse blood.

Norvyk must have felt his Rider's frustration, because his own chest began to vibrate with the same melody as Petra. Trying to harmonize and show the frightened mount that he and the elf on its back were one and the same.

Petra felt a shudder run through the body of her horse and then it went quiet. Waiting to take her where she wanted to go. She smiled briefly at her dragon and leaned forward to pat the horse on his neck in gratitude. Satisfied she had a horse for at least the evening, she turned towards Valdr, indicating she woudl follow him.

Petra had been riding up on her skittish horse when Valdr's good-natured jabbing elicited a draconic chuckle from Norvyk. She cut a glare at them both. Not bothering to give into the bait. She was glad for their newfound camaraderie, but she had a sneaking suspicion that it was at the expense of her pride.

She was still trying to calm her mount with the aid of her dragon when Valdr uttered words in a language that seemed just shy of something she knew. She scrunched her brow at him briefly in confusion, but held her tongue. Instead, what he said next that had her laughing. "Oh has he now? Well I hope he saved the best of my stories for me to tell. Since he lacks a certain sparkle to tell them properly." She gave Norvyk a quick wink. "Now let's get moving, I am desperate to at least wash this blood from my hair." Turning her horse West and urging him to begin riding towards the forest.

A wisp of amusement reached her through her bond and as she started to walk away, there was a buffeting of wind behind her and she struggled to keep her seat in her saddle as her horse spooked sideways. But Norvyk had taken to the air, content to fly and meet them in the woods.

As she conversed with Valdr, all she could think was that...as of recently, she was closer to being a dragon than she had ever been before. It was never something she had considered, let alone thought possible. And yet here she was, joking with a warden who she had stumbled upon in the Spine after spending weeks traveling with a dragon companion that was bound to the very essence of who she was, with magic she didn't fucking understand.

The strangeness of circumstance was enough to leave her mute and lost in thought as the two continued riding West. The tree line finally on the horizon. The gelding beneath her having completely settled now that Norvyk had flown off; Toron's occassional pinned ears keeping her horse in check regardless.

She continued to mull over the fact that as an elf, she had hundreds of years left to live; outside circumstance notwithstanding. But what did that mean for this new path that she walked? Was the rest of her life to be that of a dragon rider? More alienated from her own kind than ever before, even if now she would never know another lonely day because of her dragon?

If this was to be their new destiny. She wanted to do it while arming herself with as many answers as she could. Which meant starting with the people who would even have the knowledge of such an obscure kind of magic. Although, she had a feeling that this pursuit of knowledge would end in more questions than answers. And she was not one to tolerate being left in the dark.

Well, thankfully, she had hundreds of years to figure it out, right? Petra snorted at her own internal sarcasm.

Valdr had been quietly cleaning his sword of gore from atop his saddle, when he brought up the topic of Pinkrose. The very name curled her lip in distaste.

"Yes, well. As cunning as he is. He forgets that the game he plays effects the people that suffer beneath his growing xenophobia. There will come a tipping point when perhaps even the Redeemers' aid will be needed. And I pray Pinkrose falls upon his own sword when that day arrives. Although I'm wary of whatever successor would rise to replace him."

Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar

"Alliria? Undead? Do you speak of that battle that occured not too long ago? I had heard about it, but news has a weird way of twisting the facts, the longer it has to travel. So I'm sure I don't know what exactly went down. Were you there? Did you fight in it?" She had known that there was some great terrible battle that happened after a certain evil green dragon had surfaced... or... something like that. She wasn't all too sure of the details. Let alone why it had occured in the first place.

****

They had made their way out of the foothills, and into the boundary at the edge of a forest. The terrain becoming much more familiar to Petra as she led them towards a known creek in the area.

The thought of being clean had her pushing her horse into a canter. She was sure the horses would be glad to be fed and watered after such a hard day.

Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar

Apparently her eyebrows could hike higher, because the more Valdr spoke the less she could believe.
"A Kobold, you say?! By gods, he must be a magnificent warrior indeed to have defeated a god of undeath. Which... is that god even dead if his realm is that of the undead?" Her own understanding of the gods revolved around pantheon of her people and that of dragons.

*****

She paused in her dismount, any family? "Oh. Well... yes, my sister. But as I said, she no longer walks the earth." She slid the rest of the way off, her horse a wall between her and Valdr. Briefly she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead into the side of her gelding. His warmth settled her.

Taking a deep breath, she centered herself and walked her horse towards the creek so he could drink his fill. "And no middle name. None that I can remember anyhow. I was actually found by the Eredale Keeper when I was but a child. And I was given to the Darthinian house to raise." She looked over at the Warden as she knelt down on the creekbed. A sad smile that spoke of old pains. "Her name was Seraphine."

A rush of light and music played across the bond in her chest. Her dragon had sensed her meloncholy and was trying to comfort her. It gave her the strength she needed to speak without crying, even all these years later.

Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar

Her brow furrowed at Valdr's thoughts on the lich. "Return you say?" She hummed in thought. "Then we would be wise to assure we are prepared to rise once again to such a threat. And be sure we can defeat it. Permanently."

*****

Her horse sidled into the creek next to her, thrusting its nose eagerly under the surface, while she knelt and began scrubbing her hands of dried blood. The bubbling water turning a soft pink where she dunked her fingers clean. She paused briefly as Valdr spoke, before resuming her scrubbing with a nostalgic lilt to her voice.

"His name was Doran, you say? Well that truly is a good and strong name. And you said youngest? Do you have other siblings then?" The water began to run clear as she scraped under her fingernails with a single claw. "No one understands what it is to be an older sibling and lose the ones we were supposed to protect. I pray you do not have to bear the burden of his death on your shoulders as I do my sister's. It is... something I am still making amends for." Her voice fading with the confession.

She stood and untied her pack from the back of her gelding's saddle. Speaking as she began digging through its contents for fresh clothes. "I realize that we've only just met. But, seeing as we are almost to Eredale. You will need to be armed with that knowledge should you join me when speaking to my family and Be'sennar's son." Her fingers brushed against the texture of one of her extra shirts and she victoriously pulled it from her pack. Snagging a pair of leather breeches with it. "It's... not something that... well... it's not something that I'm waiting on my family for forgiveness for." She turned towards Valdr, her eyes bright with emotion. "The only forgiveness necessary will be from myself. And I will never deserve that right."

Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar

The grey gelding beside her had drunk his fill and was now nosing along Petra's pockets and leather armor for food. She half-heartedly pushed his head away, offering him her hand to nose at instead, his soft whiskers against her palm bringing a close-lipped smile to her face while she listened to Valdr. Watching as he undonned his bloody armor and laid it out on the bank. There was beginning foundations of hopeful trust between them now, one that could only have been born from fighting and shedding blood together against a shared foe.

The thought reminded her of the state of her hair and she reached back into her pack to snag a small tablet of magical fizzing soap from a leather pouch she had. On contact with water, this soap could clean almost anything: dirt, mud, blood, hell probably even shame if she tried.

The elf turned and stepped into the creek, throwing her fresh clothes onto the bank as she crouched and cupped the water onto the tablet, a refreshing and sharp scent of pine and lemon permeated the air. Small sizzling and green magical sparks flying from the tablet as it melted into her palm.

As Valdr listed off all of his sibling one after the other, she went to work lathering her long blood matted curls.
"Any of which who are quite so noble as you, Syr Rangvaldr?" She teased.
She couldn't help but laugh. My how lucky humans were with being able to be blessed with so many children. What she would have given to have grown up in a chaotic household full of brothers and sisters. Now it was just her mom and dad, and the space where once her sister stood; the resulting void loud in her absence.

But the Warden perhaps had a point. That blame was like a poison on her soul. But she didn't know yet if she was strong enough to take the antidote. That would mean facing herself and her deepest regrets.

Somewhere above, Petra could feel her dragon flying. If she closed her eyes and focused on that gilded cord inside, she could hear the very faintest sounds of rushing wind as Norvyk experienced it himself, she felt the same underlying elation he felt at all times from the freedom that was born of his mighty wings. That same bond shone brightly as a beacon in the dark. And in that moment, she felt with steadfast assuredy that no matter where she roamed, wherever she was lost, that that light would find her and guide her home.

Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar