Northstar Vale I'm gonna be free & I'm gonna be fine; but baby not tonight

At the most hideous lows of her despondency, the herbalist had wished  (so hatefully quicksilver that she wondered if she’d ever actually wondered at it)  to part from it all as her hanno had so effortlessly, so tearlessly parted from her. Her dark dragons’ capture was supposedly not her fault, but when he had gone it was the last fraying of threads upon the fragile spindle that she assumes they’d all clung to in the hopes of healing. Her morose, fragmented mind concluded that they were a family in tatters, and Aure blamed herself without self-pity, yet knew she could not abandon, never abandon her brood, at least.

Still: she ebbed and faded like the light seen through argent, autumning boughs and it was only the voice — introduction of Dawn — that coaxed the druid from her numbed reverie. A grey warden, eliciting as natural a response as she could muster,  “Aurëwen,”  a dreary lull, before:  “Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo.”  Eyes, far too quiet and as hard and fell as the sea, found the burnished gaze of Dawn’s without further comment.

​Well:  “Do you come to ze vale, often?”