Taiga seems to thrive under the ideal of family.
The Redwoods do not boast great numbers or even ambition (at least in the scope of conquest and empires; Yanhua and Amarine have their ideas of how the next generation of Taigan's could grow and Lilliana encourages it because what comes after should always be better than what came before).
It is with family that she leaves Reave with. Her youngest set of twins remain close by and Lilliana trusts that should any of her children wander too far, either Yanhua or Ama or another Taigan will shepherd them back towards the northern side of the forest until she returns. There has been an abundance of foals romping through the woods this spring and it makes her heart glad; after everything the North has suffered the last few years (Aten disappearing, the Pangean thefts, the Curse, dragon flames), peace is finally taking root.
Peace sinks deep within the ground, sprouting ideas for the younger members and easing the weathered nerves of the older ones. It comes washing in the tides and lingers with the Taigan fog. The only place it doesn't seem to remain is within Lilliana, who presses a gentle kiss into Reave's small brow and promises to return as quickly as she can.
Her journey to Tephra is not a long one. After a few hours, the humidity starts to rise to greet her (and something within Lilliana relishes it; her sleek fire-gold coat glimmers with the growing heat). The Sequoias that group so closely together in Taiga become sparse before surrendering to the jungle vines and large, leafy tropical ferns that brush against her slender sides, something that draws a smile against her dark mouth.
Rising towards the west is the volcano and she slows when the path she travels offers a spectacular view of the sleeping summit.
Lilliana's knowledge of this land is made up of what Warden has shared with her, the son of the former Overseer and current leader of the realm. It's him she seeks today but her path crosses with someone else instead. "Oh," she says, surprised not to find the horned pegasus. The slender chestnut stops to see a dark (and rather elegant) mare standing where she had expected to find the Watcher. "Well you definitely aren't Warden," she says with a breathless laugh towards gold-marked woman and a friendly smile. "It's hard to miss those wings," she teases with an impish grin.
Remember when our songs were just like prayers
Like gospel hymns that you caught in the air?