Dragoncrest Cliffs every demon wants his pound of flesh,

All welcome but beware enraged guilt-ridden Aur 8’)
Tagged non-Drageda doggos just for reference!
Setting Post-war, sometime during 12/30-1/5 after trip with Tux
Time At the cliffs, evening

Born in ivory; —
These crags were the play of pups. Of children. She didn’t know why she’d ever hesitated to descend them. She, who’d been born in the northern-most reaches of her being, of this world. Her form, now bearing fresh etchings of scarlet; like some gleaming pinnicale at high-moon; she was the snow and the sunder that comes with it.

Plainly speaking? Aure didn’t give a single damn-fucking-shit (!) what happened to her right now. Brana be damned. Eventual scolding be damned. The sound be damned, Rusalka be damned. Her docility, her obedience be damned. Stars be damned. Heavens be damned.

Porcelain; —
Legs of that ivory; long, unending, grasping, newly marred. She made her way onto the smatterings of stone, allowed the tide to shiver at too-stiff ankles. She opened herself to the sea, regardless, and let it wrestle its way into her raw and plaintive soul. Challenged it to see if it would meet her primal, aureate marrow. Raw, she had become. Wrathful. Wracked with guilt. Unendingly furious within herself, she unleashed it upon the tide with an otherworldly cry.

Steel;
@Ford had told her that she was in a place appropriate for becoming a storm. And she, like the dawn, was terrifying in the beauty of it all; the sea was not a storm, as she hoped. But it was still the sea—coaxing her savagery with its own. Would that she could, she would have knelt for it, breathed for it; succumbed to its embrace like a passive lover. 

She was not passive. And she would never allow a wisp of Drageda be harmed again; even if it meant parting from her beloved, damned stars in soul and rushing to greet the waves. All of them—all of Drakru, she wanted to come to know so singularly. She wanted their faces and minds and lives carved into her wrathful breast; because one day, she may never return from an excursion. And if she were to die, with Vonnaruil still undiscovered, and out of Drakru arms and far-away, she wanted her final thoughts to be of them; smiling, and living the way they were all meant to live.

Before she did, she snarled at this damned swell, with teeth and tongue and spittle; unrefined and undoubtedly primordial. Met the salt with her frost. Tux had still been hurt, in more ways than one; in ways she would never forgive herself for. He had seen Rakk and the festering, flesh-feasting ilk that skulked within him.

So she let herself crumple, achingly, to splay upon the mineral crag as the tide murmured to her. A starling becoming sea-born. For them, she would.