She is a child, lost and frozen: out of time and out of place.
In precious moments she is able to forget about the shadows and darkness, the edges of rocks that resemble smoke more than a solid mass; but now, here- in this moment, her small mind goes back to it and recalls the vast expanse of inky black and cold, lifeless air. Stagnant and dreary the smell of mold and algae burns her senses and she feels herself pulled away from Heartfire, from Woolf and Leilan- from the Island.
“Briella, listen.” the voice roars in her mind. “Remember what I taught you.” stern, calm, and yet: loving, and she knows this voice, she recalls the muscle and velvet nose- the tall body with its muscle and all the psatter of color.
“Pell!” she chokes, and to Heartfire and Leilan- to Woolf she is shouting at nothing, staring out into the snow and shouting a word, a name… one lost to time. “Pell! Wait.”
She begs, she pauses, and she watches the shadow in her mind leave: the vision gone, and her whole body forced back into the cold, into the spindly legs and soft baby-coat. Those wide eyes staring and her body pressing against Heartfire as she sniffles and shivers: as fever turns her blood to ice-water and burns her skin. Briella can only look where the shadow was: start to walk, to step away from her caretaker.
“Expelliarmus!” she growls, fevered and maddened, angry… a thing she’s never been. “You left me, you left me behind. The Valley- the Chamber.” her head turns and she peers at them before walking back, confused and frustrated.
Looking for an answer with wide eyes, she coughs and there is trickles of blood on her nose.
Heartfire has been the comfort she’s known, the sole-friendly face in all this wild mess outside of Dovev- and to the mare she clings again. Her small ears pressing backward as she studies Woolf, stares and peers at him with full attention. His form is mutable in her mind as fever wracks her brain and she sees his form wobbling: fading and darkening, but, she is not hot enough to lose conscious and so she stays awake: watching and listening.
He speaks and she mouths the words, mocking and mimicking… learning. Sister, he says, and she looks between them, cautious and curious- speaking up with a more defined voice. “Uncle.” she chirps, staring deadpan at Woolf.
The Dragon, however, perks her attention; but only because he demands so much of hers. She studies, faces, and considers him with her small head pulled back and ears leaning forward until she is able to muster self enough to reach her nose out and sniff. “Leilan…” she mouths, softly mimicking the name and testing it a moment before responding. “Briella.” she puffs her chest out, stands and presses into Heartfire’s side.
Slowly her tiny head snakes around the mare’s leg and she peers at Leilan from there, perhaps unsure or simply lacking confidence; but regardless she blinks and watches him. “Great Uncle.” she thinks and states, an addendum in her mind.
“Woolf,” she speaks after Heartfire. “Woolfie.” blinking and looking up at the mulberry blood mage with her head tilting.
The conversation of blood however, escapes her, and she lacks the knowledge of such things to comprehend what is discussed: rather she responds to the rush of fever, and of sickness. The spindly legs wobbling and her body slowly dropping to the ground beneath Heartfire, half-resting while looking up at them all. “Dovev… da-.” she cuts off at the latter, almost mournful, her small ears flopping to the side.