Blacktail Deer Plateau Get a little dirt on your hands

vague vaguey vague

Daybreak wakes up in the needled hold of the spire’s north, so like Rhaesuial that it cinches at her breast; coaxing a breath of longing breath through her lungs—pine and heather in every stutter. The north of these Teekons would forever be her south, no matter how reminiscent it is of her haven and its Tines; no matter how, like it, kelebō flourish and flit through these argent-pine hinters; no matter how, like it, streams shiver, shimmering into the gloom of the plateau.

Having drawn herself some ways ahead of @Sanguinus and her sun-and-stars, the silver meandered by way of soft, suffused dawn—the stars still hang, blinking and ebbing away—and her eyes turn skyward, finding the dulling celestial bodies. The infallible northern star is there, and Aurëwen smiles, perhaps her first smile since her exile. 

“...Mélamar.”

Home was Vercingetorix’s arms, and the press of their children between them as they slept, and the salt-sea that she’d always wondered her children might smell.
But ...perhaps it was here, too. 

She is blissful in the embrace of the balmy coolness of this southerly north; skin stirring with goose flesh, the wintry hide flickering in response; she lingers here for as long as she dares, sure that those who followed her would continue to do so. Scarred head tilted to the sunup-gleaming mountains, Aurëwen waits a moment to catch her breath — only when she glimpses the ruddy-dark of Sanguinus does she choose to press on.

The greenseer, for the dawn chorus, would’ve liked to find a meal for the three tethered to her; but it was in another heartbeat that she found herself gasping, “Ála mātare! Hloirëa!” rushing for a star-pointed she-wolf, slurring through her thick, foreign tongue, “No no! Poisonings!”