Dragoncrest Cliffs father and child

Mossbloom. Greatpine. Saltmarsh. A beach — Corsair. Mudwallow.

Cherub’s Wing explored every area with a reverent fervor, taking in the winterbound districts through the use of all her senses and committing each place to her ironclad memory. She strayed to and fro, exploring crevices and roots and bare bushes, practically anything that caught her eye.

She carefully followed Mireille along the Tangle’s thorny clutches, while admiring the dark stripe along the obsidian’s sleek spine as they went.

Fallrock. Fireblood. Bluepeace. Glintwater.

Each of these locations took Wing’s breath away. There was a uniqueness to these cliffs that she could not have imagined, for Sapphique was many times more diverse than the lake-hugged peninsula she hailed from and the lands she had covered to make it here. These packlands felt like a dream, like fate laid out before her, and she sighed deeply as she looked out over the lake.

I was born beside a lake like this, she said, wistful.

Roja. Seaflower. A tunnel…

She pressed in close to Mireille as they trotted through a dark hollow. The sound of the surf pulsed along the walls, growing in volume the closer they came to the opening ahead that beckoned them to freedom. Wing closed her eyes as they emerged back into the cold graylight, then opened them to behold the treasure of Sapphique: a secret cove, surrounded by impossibly majestic cliffs and the wild, implacable expanse of the ocean before them.

Cherub’s Wing laughed, shocked by the view. Oh, Mireille, she breathed, turning to look upon her freckled face. She looked back over the beach, her tail fanning. It’s beautiful! The ocean is so different from a lake, she bubbled over the pounding, crashing, whooshing of the waves. It is never still! What makes it move so?