She isn’t sure if a war waged by Beqanna’s own inhabitants had ever been so destructive.
When she returns to Tephra, even she is surprised at the level of ruin. She has lived through many wars, and many of Beqanna’s changes. She has felt the earth quake and swallow lands and magic, and she has quivered in anticipation when they released were again. She has witnessed wars that severed alliances and twisted swords of distrust deeper into the chests of those that participated, but she cannot recall there ever being a time that this had happened.
With her newborn daughter in tow, they return to the aftermath of the war Aislyn had been born during. Charred trunks of trees sit black and haunting, with hardened magma blanketing where the path of lava had flowed. She still has not accounted for any of her other children that lived there; Evenstar, and both sets of twins. She quiets her worry by telling herself that they had not hung around Tephra as frequently anymore anyway, having grown enough that they no longer needed her. It was highly possible they were all safe, and perhaps were blissfully unaware of what had become of their birthland.
She has no way of knowing that in some distant corner of Tephra, where the scattered white dragon scales still glitter and glint when the sun catches them just right, are the only things remaining of one of her daughters.
Her nearly black eyes scan the desolate land, and that is when she finds Leliana, and another. “Come along, Aislyn,” She says with a sideways glance to the little girl that trailed behind her, and obediently the black and white filly picked up an awkward trot to catch up.
When she approaches the duo, her gaze shifts between both of them, but she lets her eyes drink in the face of the stranger first, and with a smile whispering at the edge of her lips she says to him, “I’m Ryatah.” Aislyn hugs tightly to her side, her bright pink eyes watching Brennen and Leliana, and when her mother finishes her own introduction she offers in her high, childish voice, “My name is Aislyn.” There is a boldness hiding in the girlish trill of her voice, but her newborn shyness quickly overcomes her and she ducks to hide her black and white mottled face into Ryatah’s side.
The stark white mare brushes her lips idly across the top of her daughter’s baby-curled mane, but her attention is on Leliana when she lifts her eyes. The delicate lines of her face are drawn and taut, her eyes so dark and somber in comparison to the newly-ashen ones of the Queen’s. “You did everything you could, Leliana. I hope you know that.”
