Ouroboros Spine All the missing, crooked parts.

When Ciri had left Noctisardor Bypass, her father had been gravely ill. She painfully recalled the rattling within his chest, the bark of his never-ending cough. It'd haunted her for many months following her departure. Guilt had consumed her and she'd tried her best to convince herself that Mahler would not have wanted her to watch him suffer. He'd be long dead, she believed, and the swallow deserved to live.

She had done just that, and learned to make peace with her troubled past. She'd ventured far and wide, saw much of the world, though ultimately her heart lead her back to the lands of her birth. Ciri, fast approaching her third year, recognised that she did not want to be alone forever. She wished to create something she herself had never had: a family built on stability, and she wished to seek it in the lands where she'd deserved to find joy.

Snow fell softly, lingering in the obsidian furs of her dorsal, and she located the territory where Moonspear's survivors had gathered. @Kukutux had offered her kindness there once, long ago when she'd been a yearling, and she was hopeful that she would be welcomed with that same warmth. Ciri hovered at the outskirts of her land and sent forth an announcement, a smoky request for an audience.