i am a leaf on the wind

They fall into conversation with relative ease. She hasn’t had something quite like this yet in her time in Helovia. Is it simply because she’s starting to feel more at ease in this new life? Or is there something in particular about Glasgow that invites conversation? In truth, she’s not sure. She didn’t fall into conversation like this with Alysanne, though perhaps that’s an unfair comparison. Alysanne found her on the border, when Lyanna hardly even knew where she was, let alone knew what to talk about. But still, even as the Moon Doctor becomes a closer friend, Lyanna doesn’t often find herself offering information so readily (though that is changing, lately).

Maybe everything just finally hurts less. Maybe. Though in truth, she finds that hard to believe. She just thinks it’s easier to forget about it, as her new life takes some semblance of shape. 

That sounds beautiful, Glasgow says, and Lyanna smile grows wistful. “Oh, it was amazing.” she admits, when the mare asks what it was like. “Impossibly free. I can still fly, of course, but the things I could do when I controlled the wind around me were far more impressive than anything I can do now. But also powerful, in a way I am not on my own.” This isn’t her being self-deprecating (though she finds, in her sorrow, she has a tendency for that). It’s just truthful. She is small, not particularly skilled in war or stealth, and hardly made of muscle. But with the power of the wind. “I could have leveled forests once upon a time. Not that I did, I love trees. But still, sometimes it was nice knowing that I could.”

She chuckles slightly. She’d never (purposefully) hurt a tree. Accidentally though, yes. Many times. The Glazier changes subjects now, talking of herself, and Lyanna flicks both ears forward, interested to learn more about the scarred mare. About another of her herd mates, because in truth, she’s been pretty lax in learning about them. Glasgow tells of her past; what both her and her sister had looked like. They sound, in a way, almost more like priests or prophets than simply diplomats. 

“I can believe it, actually,” she says, teal eyes looking at the other mare as if seeing exactly what Glasgow described. ”May I ask what happened? Though feel free to say no, I won’t be offended.” she says, knowing that some things are easier left unsaid. She wasn’t a fan of talking of her own past. Not the nitty gritty, anyway. Not the whispers of how Corbin’s blood soaked through his tent. Not the rumors that her mother pleaded and screamed for her life (it was so unlike her mother, Lyanna didn’t believe it, but the fact that others did still made her angry). She didn’t like to think of how her family would be remembered. They had not been unkind rulers. They had not deserved such a bloody death. And they did not deserve to be remembered as tyrants, which is how the rebels painted them.
 
Ah, the power of words and stories. It seems, to Lyanna, that Glasgow would understand that power. The power of the wind didn’t save Lyanna, but the power of words destroyed her.

Glasgow takes a step toward the wall, and Lyanna turns her head, watching where the other mare point. “Clever,” she says, having honestly never thought to look for places where the glass wouldn’t cut her. Why didn’t that cross her mind? Did she really care so little for herself now? 

She takes a step forward, examining the little sapling and the wall around it, rather amazed by how everything made eventually crumbled to the will of the Earth. “Were you here when the wall was whole? she asks, not even sure how long it’s been since the wall started to crumble. One day, perhaps, she’d know these things. 

watch how i soar.

lyanna