"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
This is no longer her home, she has no claim to these lands, but it feels as though there is something for Beyza here still. Even if it is only the opportunity to prove to herself that it holds no strong power over her, for good or bad. The memories made here have softened with time, losing the sharp edges and she does not doubt some of the facts have begun to blur together and twist. What sticks to her most is the fondness she once felt for this place - where she had been born, where she and her sister had taken their first steps and been loved by a strange collection of adults.
The real memories are there, waiting to be pulled back into the light, but Beyza moves away from those thoughts and allows herself the simple pleasure of just not worrying about it as she wanders through the once-familiar canyons. The Dale’s crown is kept safely tucked away in another dimension because this is not an official visit, if such things even existed now. She’s had no cause to wear it since obtaining it.
Sounds echoing alert her to the presence of another moving ahead, and an anxious flicker of apprehension (or anticipation) passes briefly though her before she squashes it, and before it is revealed to be a stranger. Someone not crowned with death but draped in an echo of it, alive but... rotting.
She thinks of Maurtia, her necromantic daughter, and how much this would delight her - and that thought alone is what inspires her to drift closer. There are no magical adornments to her today beyond the soft glow she has always radiated, her white eyes bright and unblinking as she draws close enough to speak. It is not wariness or disgust that causes her to pause before drawing too close. Instead it is something closer to indifference, a lack of commitment to remaining paused in her wandering. And when she speaks, the words are simple and brief - a testing of the waters as she falls completely still.
Zain