Dragoncrest Cliffs otherworld

Perhaps it would storm; the waves buffet the cliffs with such uproar that the girl is careful to keep well away from the edges. She'd become skilled at navigating their steep faces, but winter's slickness and the roar of the sea have her wary, and though a part of her wishes to see the wind-whipped waves battle the snow-dusted rocks below, her mother's arrival has her turn away from the sea in its fury. 

The sylph picks her way towards her mother, dodging sharp spires of stone and scrappy clumps of lichen, the delicate clumps which crumble so easily beneath her. Her mother sweeps forward with her quiet grace, and the girl's tail sways at her hocks as she echoes her mother's greeting, nudging Portia's cheek with a small smile. "I'm alright," She admits, though truly she'd worried and doubtful. After a moment, she elaborates, the crash of the waves behind them.  "I'm worried. I know Drageda is strong - but war -" Here she paused, shifting again. She could imagine scraps over food or boundaries well enough, but entire packs charging against each other, killing each other, was terrifying.  "I never thought it'd be so real."