"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
She comes, of course - drifting like a ghost herself towards the call. Although Beyza does not know Straia, does not understand the crusade to replace this Beqanna with one from the past, it appears to be something that Anaxarete is interested in and that is enough for the white girl. She listens, but has nothing to add - no ideas at this time.
Her attention is mostly on the absence of Ghaul, the commanding presence he bore as King. She watches Anaxarete move his shadow-shrouded body into the canyon wall and form a tribute - her heart constricting slightly though her features show no sign of her grief. It is not an emotion she wears well and it is all too easy to package away. But she’s thankful to Ghaul for his lessons, for his inspiration, and for finally, in an act of fire, making Pangea feel like her home.
Beyza cannot offer much, but she adds something small to the etching - veins of gemstones and gold in the carving grow and glitter where Ghaul’s celestial marking had shone bright against his scales, as if bleeding from where his eyes should have been, and glittering in the light of the flame.
There is a quick glance to Anaxarete - Beyza will never be too old to seek her approval - before she stands quietly - her unblinking gaze drifting over the crowd and wondering who else will remain.