[private] throw me into the fire ; leliana

[leliana]

I rise from my scars. nothing hurts me now.

Leliana is not sure that her message will make it back to Castile; is not sure he will understand just how serious she is about her proclamation. And if there’s one thing that she is deadly serious about, it is the release of every captive that he currently holds locked up in Loess, healer and non-healer alike. At the top of the list is the golden healer so close to her heart, the one that she recognizes meant so much to her.

(Means so much to her—even now, even in this state.)

So she stands in the middle of Tephra, her depthless golden eyes closed and her lovely head tipped back. She breathes slowly, inhaling and exhaling until she is certain that she can feel the very vibrations of the earth beneath her move in time with her pulse. She breathes slowly and then lets her power ripple out from her, letting it sink into the earth and catch flight on the wind. The greenery around her waves in reaction, but she doesn’t notice; it becomes just a part of the moment, just a part of her.

Leliana follows the magic along the wind, nursing it along as it weaves across the Tephran landscape to the edge, cutting through the border of Sylva and Taiga and then piercing into the heart of Loess. It is not exhausting to harness her power—not the way it had been to ask so much of her healing—but she still feels the barest hint of sweat on her neck as her gift finally locates Cress and her youngest.

Without pausing, Leliana wraps the magic around them both and then pulls.

They simply blink out of existence.

When she opens her eyes, she feels them again, but Cress’ heartbeat is closer, impossibly loud. Her glowing eyes open and she turns her head toward the source of it, unfurling massive crimson wings and taking to the skies. It only takes a few minutes before she finds them and she dives down gracefully, landing without noise and tucking her wings close. Her face does not show the same softness that it once would have—it is carved from rock now, polished marble—but there is still a warmth reflected there.

“Cress,” she says the mare’s name in greeting, but doesn’t elaborate further.

@[Cress]