Qeya River From the ashes

She ran not for Kvarsheim — not for Bjarna's gentle warmth or Gunnar's kind wisdom, not even for the precious peace she found in Lestan's arms.
Reverie wanted only to be free.
She wanted to dance.
And dance she did! Wild steps along the riverside, twirling with the ice floes as if she were one of them. Utterly alone, untethered, unknown; here she had no brothers and no sisters, here only sunlight filled her veins. She was born of the light, motherless now, and what use had she ever had for a father? A man who taught her that she was only worth what she could give, a man who taught all of his children the same. No. She did not belong to them, any of them. She never had, and she never would.
She would not belong to anyone. She would take back the scattered pieces of her heart. A golden girl dancing along the river's edge, that was all she was —
No. Not that, either. Reverie could not discard every ounce of love in her heart. She couldn't burn everything, no matter how much easier it might be. She was not the flames. She was the light, the light that followed the fire and brought beauty to the cruelest moments. Light touched the whole world, but it never stayed; it could never be contained. Her steps slowed and her dance surrendered to a soft death, and for a breathless heartbeat she only gazed wonderingly at the ice floating down the river and the way the light gleamed against it. Her toes slipped against river rocks as she stepped closer. She looked down, and saw something different among the grey and green and red of the stones. Something burnished gold, a little dirty and dim when she first picked it up. But it was beautiful.
She held it carefully between her teeth and dipped it into the water, letting the river's flow wash away the dirt. A few rubs with her paw, and it came clean entirely, and when she lifted it again it gleamed gold and amber under the sun. A small thing, about half the size of her own paw, but large enough to be worth keeping. Reverie placed it in the snow to examine it further, starstruck by the way the imperfections deep inside the irregular piece caught the light. She knew immediately what she would do with it.
Reverie turned for Swiftcurrent Creek.