When the Chamber had fallen: she watched it, and when the Valley had fallen… Briella went further into the darkness of the world: in the vast and inescapable black of the void. It was a mirror of Beqanna itself, but, one that exist in such a way that it was never apparent how to cross over or how to get back.
Centuries had been lost: years go, and Briella watched as all the world burned.
Dovev had found her when the brush gave way and the void spat her out: he had brushed her off, claimed her in the same way Expelliarmus had; but rather than abandon her… he had stayed. In such a way she loved, but, in all Briella loved endlessly: even her enemies she could not hate.
After all, she was too scared to lose anyone.
Such it was that she had been brought to Ischia: her feet on the shore and life bright and wonderous: so vast and new that for a moment her heart swelled and she could find no words for the beauty of it. Yet? Time saw itself manifested in other ways. A call, an echo: a demand from someone who, to her, was a shadow without a name.
Dovev had greedily grabbed her up, pressed her closed and tried to calm her; but in the end: Briella outraged and furious: angered by the notion of being unable to help. She’d nearly died twice after all on quests, martyrdom and self-sacrifice for all the souls of Beqanna: and here, she was denied the ability to help.
Her sister is newly born to the world, young and tempestuous: a jealous girl who much like Briella, loved her father. But where she has knobby knees and spidery legs… Briella is different.
Time had changed: she had changed.
Rather than a child she stands beside Dovev- tall and lean, her dark sooty coat more so chocolate in color and the length mane and tail with all its waves and curls was a brilliant blonde. Her pale blue eyes had not changed and there is glistening in her mane and tail, dewy frost spattered and graying parts of her body.
Colder to the touch she walks, allowing Brazen to push between, not minding the girl nor Dovev. Solemn and quiet she looks up at Wolfbane, at the Pirate Lord and all his golden splendor. He is haughty, arrogant, and callous: a creature that stinks of sea and of rotting ship-wood. The sound of her sister’s rumbling belly leads her to pressing her nose down and brushing Brazen’s forelock: peering up and around with some concern for the bladed seagrasses and the the spring flowers.
The Pampas are, in their own way, beautiful; but Briella finds them tedious and ill-fitting. Her heart aches for the frozen island, for the company of her family… and she remains quiet for now: no words or things say.