Moonspear ᵐᵗᵐᵖʰ dornröschen (mtr.)

15th September.  After talks with the queen, the ward again evades her routine seeing-to for more favorable attentions; a leave-taking is not without longing.
Reference  ·  Nerve damage to upper-mid spinal cord,  tremors, mood swings, personality shifts, lethargy & fatigue

A puerile imp always possessed the silver only when Lyra, not @Mahler, was near;
pastime mischeif meant to enrage, never to ever endear;
for she delighted in the ire of Kerberos' second as she flit from her! so when the earth shuddered by behemoth's rousement so too did Andraste shiver away from the dark lady’s reaching and thus takes a faltering flight from her. She would rather be struck down once more than cower in the cavern she'd awoken in, been kept to; such evasion so early in the hours. Only when the sun limned the Moonspire with morn did she exhume herself of ivy drapery from which she’d glamour’d beneath.

The tremoring from then was now her own; at the time, it hadn’t quite yet registered how nearly the three sisters blind had cut the thread of her life, so within her words had the queen drew her.

But! she had ghosted from Hydra's spiteful sister once more  (the serpent having sought her upon a different route entirely!)  and that in itself begged for celebration of some sort; even the meagerest of them. The next murmur of the earth presently found the willow-wisp on ambiguous pursuit; ears pressed forward  (a rare thing!)  to listen as she sought the last peals of tindoio before harvest swept in with its shameless sunsetting. ...And perhaps they had sought a world away from the one that hummed now to its roots.

Dim as it was, the forested foothills glowed; leaves already gilded were pressed to further dryness underpaw as the silver passed by black roots mottled with burnished, coppered mosses. The crisped spice of pine sap rushed into her lungs to brimming — it still was not enough. Even as she knew she must make herself tame under Lyra’s tending eventually, nothing would ever be enough again; and she would savor furtively the remainder of the gargoyle’s being here.

Otherwise—
Andraste continued her quiet quest with a gentled tread; eventually come to lie heavy-lashed within some moss-laden alcove within the deep dawn’s glow of harvest.