The Heartwood things lost to the flames

Varick forced himself to trudge southward.  It was more difficult than he thought to tear himself from the glacial fortress that reminded him so much of home, of the Azorius in its prime.  But he was a man in exodus, his duty was to leave the Syndicate behind and to do so meant destroying everything that the once-prince had ever been.  Eventually, he found himself in the lush green expanse that marked the end of Neverwinter Forest.

A second forest was visible from the edge of Neverwinter, and having traveled without aim before, he decided that it was as good of a place as any but the closer he got, the worse he felt.  The moment he broke through the Heartwood, something ugly inside him shifted, memories that had once been banished took over.  Varick's mouth parted, a wisp of silvery fog escaping as the air was forcibly sucked out of his lungs.  All he could see was burning, although the Heartwood was not home and both the death of Charlemagne and the Heartwood were long ago.  

The dazed man hurried through the wreckage.  He did not notice once he came across the woman he had met just nights ago, almost shoving past her before her scent made its way past the fire and the memories and brought him to the present.  

Varick was sure she had seen him.  The generally cool, composed man was caught off guard and an anger surged up that he did not understand, angry with himself for breaking and angry with her for existing.  But it was not fair to punish her for something she did not know, she did not help, so he just addressed her with his gaze, trying to look as composed as he could.

Did I disturb you?