The survivors go their separate ways

She thinks of Skrain - and especially of their farewell - more than once as they make their way out of the Delwald. He isn’t the first man she’s found herself falling into bed with over the course of a harrowing adventure, but they did share something a little more than that. She’s sad to leave him behind, but more than that, she’s glad that he’s found something worthy, something right.

She thinks of Valiri too, who one of the first of the village women to have her child. She bore the birth with a courage of a kind that Lavorra isn’t sure she’d be able to muster. And she had held the squealing Daemon-child afterward, soothing and cooing to it, without a thought to how she’d come by it. They hadn’t spoken much, in the days after the bastion, but when it came to part Lavorra had gripped her tight and felt the slight woman hold her fiercely in reply.

The memories of her quest to find Melira are not going away any time soon. But she finds that the solace of conversation - and companionable silence - amongst her friends new and old, is slowly but surely strengthening her spirit. It helps too, to know that the others: Skrain, Valiri, and the women of the village, are safe and whole and moving forward.

She knows that Melira will need her too, through the highs and lows to come. And so she makes the vow to herself that she isn’t going anywhere without her for a good long time.

Now, they make camp not far from the road that leads back toward Vedermark. Zeya, Melira and her share the fire with the Dark Elven Spell-rangers, with whom they have travelled uneasily for the past few days.

A difficult conversation is coming.

Amilir, leader of the rangers, speaks first, breaking the tense quiet. “Tomorrow, we’ll return north, to rejoin House Svarsfen.”

Melira tenses at the words, the name of her House, her family, an unwelcome one. Lavorra says nothing, but places a hand over Mel’s. If it comes to it, she won’t hesitate to fight for Melira’s freedom.

“Then you must be sure to pass my thanks to Praetor Goulain for his concern, and for dispatching such able warriors to search for me.” Melira’s tone and poise are perfect, her back straight and firm in her borrowed robes - which she has already begun to style to her liking with the use of minor charms.

Several of the rangers exchange looks, but they await Amilir’s response. Their mission was not just to seek Melira, but to bring her home, with or without her consent.

Amilir takes her time, her clear crystal-blue eyes and sculpted cheekbones giving nothing away. She still carries the marks of their captivity, but they do little to lessen her beauty or resolve. She meets Lavorra’s eyes, and in that meeting, they share the understanding of warriors, seeing in each other a loyalty that cannot be shaken.

“It’s a shame, then. That we must return empty handed. I thank you, Paladin, for your assistance.” She clears her throat, keeping her troops in check when a few murmurs break out. “I thank you, for passing along the Lady Melira’s message. It is regrettable that we arrived too late to find her. House Svarsfen will remember your bravery in service to one of its daughters, even if you sent her away before we could meet with her.”

Lavorra gives the other Elven woman a smile that is not returned, but there is the faintest quirk of Amilir’s brow.

Melira keeps her composure perfectly, but does not speak again, instead rising in a soft, fluid motion, and retiring to their shared tent.

Zeya whistles, long and high-pitched. “If I had a clue what that was about, I’m sure I’d be very impressed.”