Magnus had been here from the beginning of the reckoning, and he is still not sure that he has his feet properly underneath him. The land here, although familiar, was also completely alien in so many ways. It was as if the ground continued to shift beneath him, making each day different and challenging in its own ways. He had found himself in a familiar role of leadership, but even that was different. He was as much a stranger to those in his land as they were to him; they did not know him for a child of the jungle or a soldier of the gates. Many had followed Eight, Offspring, or Malis to Tephra and they were left with him.

He would be a fool to pretend that he did not see the disappointment or distrust in his eyes.
He would be an even bigger fool to say that it was not warranted.

Still, it did not deter him. He had faced worse and he was willing to earn their trust in whatever way that he could—he would bleed and sweat for it, if only to make sure that Tephra remained strong and stable and safe. He owed them that much. It was that same desire that drove him to the field this morning, an action that was, like many things nowadays, both completely familiar and strange at the same time.

Magnus, however, was not able to remain completely self-absorbed for long when he saw the mare curled on the ground, panic clearly writ on her eyes. He approached her slowly, his head lowered and eyes soft. he had no way of knowing if she was just waking up or was a complete stranger to the land, but he did know confusion when he saw it—and he saw fear of the unknown even more. “Hello,” he greeted softly, doing his best to keep his voice low and even. “Are you alright? Is there anything I can do to help?”

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It is perhaps a good thing Magnus found her first.

He knows what it is like to wake up from a magically induced slumber—to crawl onto the shores of Beqanna and find her changed. The first time, he had been spit up from a saltwater grave and centuries had passed. All but a few faces were gone. The kingdoms were the same and yet wholly different—what they stood for, no more, who ran them, strangers. The second, he had come back from a magical prison; this time, it had only been a few years, but wars had passed, death had struck. It had been different again.

So he recognizes the symptoms, understands the confusion, and his heart aches for her.

Magnus doesn’t move, he just drops his head slightly, his gaze steady on her own. “The deserts?” he repeats for a second, before the thought connects. Oh. She had been gone much longer than he had originally thought. “I am not sure how to tell you this,” his voice is quiet, and he watches her carefully, trying to note any signs of distress—or, rather, any more signs of distress. It wasn’t as if there was an easy way to tell someone that the land they remembered had been swallowed up and a new one had formed.

“The deserts were flooded quite a long time ago,” he finally offered. “But much has changed since then. This is not the Beqanna you likely remember.” And then, he fell quiet—trying to give her a little time to take in the information. He knew how disorienting it was and he wasn’t about to rush her through the process. If she had questions, he would do his best to answer them. If she wanted to be taken somewhere, he would try his best to get here there. It was the very least that he could do.

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