06-13-2022, 06:06 AM
Myrna has never known the Southern Lands as anything but stories. The fields of wildflowers, the red rock hills, the fiery forest: they are as unreal to her as the Forbidden Dale and the Chamber of Secrets. Places that were, but are no longer, places where families had lived and no longer did.
Was her home safe?
The worry has plagued her as a child, often in the back of her mind. But her mother wouldn’t let that happen. Someone would stop it: Firion, or the Angels, or even Malik or Bolder. Someone would keep the danger from Hyaline, and from Myrna.
News of the storm in Tephra had cracked that childlike certainty, and the fog in Taiga split it open.
They are not safe. No one is.
Someone must do something, and when Myrna jolts awake, eyes wide, she knows who that someone has to be.
She swallows that lump that rises in her pale throat, and shakes her horned head to fully rouse herself. The sky overhead is just starting to shift to evening, and the warmth of the thin Hyaline summer sun has begun to fade. Myrna closes her eyes, and long hair appears, followed by a pair of feathered wings that are as milk pale as the rest of her coat.
The storm over the Mountain is her destination, and as she takes to the sky, she wonders if her mother and brother had felt this same bright spark of excitement and fear when they had followed the guidance of the fairies. She will ask them later. After.
When she arrives and more is asked of her, she does not hesitate.
Despite her fear of losing Hyaline, there is one nightmare - one night - that has always loomed above the rest, dwarfing the rest the way the Mountain does its surrounding hills. It’s the night her father had returned. The night that he’d killed her, and she’d had to watch the way her mother’s face as she fell to the rocky earth.
There is no falling today, not with her wings strong with the summer air, not even as she heads directly into the heart of the magical storm. Her heart is beating rapidly, and her blue eyes are wide, but there is determination in her pale face, and she finds strength in thinking of her purpose.
Was her home safe?
The worry has plagued her as a child, often in the back of her mind. But her mother wouldn’t let that happen. Someone would stop it: Firion, or the Angels, or even Malik or Bolder. Someone would keep the danger from Hyaline, and from Myrna.
News of the storm in Tephra had cracked that childlike certainty, and the fog in Taiga split it open.
They are not safe. No one is.
Someone must do something, and when Myrna jolts awake, eyes wide, she knows who that someone has to be.
She swallows that lump that rises in her pale throat, and shakes her horned head to fully rouse herself. The sky overhead is just starting to shift to evening, and the warmth of the thin Hyaline summer sun has begun to fade. Myrna closes her eyes, and long hair appears, followed by a pair of feathered wings that are as milk pale as the rest of her coat.
The storm over the Mountain is her destination, and as she takes to the sky, she wonders if her mother and brother had felt this same bright spark of excitement and fear when they had followed the guidance of the fairies. She will ask them later. After.
When she arrives and more is asked of her, she does not hesitate.
Despite her fear of losing Hyaline, there is one nightmare - one night - that has always loomed above the rest, dwarfing the rest the way the Mountain does its surrounding hills. It’s the night her father had returned. The night that he’d killed her, and she’d had to watch the way her mother’s face as she fell to the rocky earth.
There is no falling today, not with her wings strong with the summer air, not even as she heads directly into the heart of the magical storm. Her heart is beating rapidly, and her blue eyes are wide, but there is determination in her pale face, and she finds strength in thinking of her purpose.