Stavanger Bay look in your glass, and there appears a face

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Before parting with them, she had portended to her @Dragomir and Isilmë of treasures tucked away in sands, an impish curl pecking at scarred lips. She promised them fortune to be found amongst the dunes and — glinting half-sight upon her daughter — objects of the heavens, come down by tempest. Airgetlám still toted the smile with her, crescented beneath shorn features, and knew with unwavering and pronounced confidence that what she sought would be here, in this place that was a treasure of its own.

And here was this realm! How she once knew it and now wished to marvel, if ever she should ghost to its shores once more. First, though—

Aegelius struts alongside, and as she minds her step of his feathers so too does the chestnut mourner mind what lurks beneath the late summer sands with a coo here, there, and thither again. But the silver only returns his fretting with chirrups of her own; thin tail feathering over bony hips, pink nose pressed and seeking through Stavanger sands.

The peal of laughter is what gives cause for the marred crown to raise; and her greycloaked half-sight alights upon a whelp, flourishing as much as the rose that bled through her pelt. Not quite shy of her own daughter’s age and, yet ... did her family wander, as well?

Aurëwen didn’t allow herself to consider the alternative, and sent up a gentle  “Far and away, eälótë?”  made inquisitive upon the breezes.