The silence stretches onwards, and though it lasts only a few seconds, it feels like an eternity. Weaver had proven to be a curious compatriot, of similar background to Amaris yet entirely different, her outlook on life was similarly common yet uncommon - as the dragonmare watched her through the silence, she wondered, would this ravenmare accept her words, understand them, acknowledge them? Or would she turn away, let the silence linger on forevermore, a soundless announcement of her distaste for the dragonmare who had no say in the shadow of whom she would be living?

But then she agreed with her, she again confirmed that they had common paths in their histories, though the Raven Queen sounded a fearsome being (Mirage had never been one for torture, though those who lost their home to her might disagree), Weaver summed it up perfectly: 'She's still my mother though'. That was it, wasn't it? These amazing, powerful, notable mares gave birth to them, mothered them, raised them, taught them about the world, for better or worse - they were their mothers, and Amaris would not deny that she loved and missed hers sorely. Though Weaver's opinion of her mother's actions was decidedly an indifferent mixture of distaste and delight, Amaris felt her mother had not been given the chance (or perhaps taken the chance) to plead her case to those who would view her in a negative light. The DragonHeart was bound by the laws of the land, her family, her herd, the Qian, needed a home, a residence, and the only way to take it was to fight, and defeat, and chase out those within the moonlit borders of the World's Edge to take the twilight throne it hosted. Some died, it was true, but they all fought for what they believed in - Mirage did not want to, but she needed to.

Too weary to explain this, however, the dragonmare softened her hard, stony expression as the mood and conversation moved on from such things, nodding along to Weaver's assenting tones, happy to find a comrade, a friend, a kindred spirit amongst the chaos that was Helovia. As the hybrid reveals her place of residence, Amaris' insides churn slightly - the Basin, the icy throne that once had tried to invade, to decimate, to ruin her home (though was it not simply retribution, revenge, payback for the crimes they saw the Qian did to them?). The Basin was the herd ruled by the mighty Reaper, at least until recently - though time had passed since his death, she knew it was still fresh upon the minds of its citizens, her recent interaction with Tiamat had confirmed as much. As thoughts of the watery belle trickled through her mind, Amaris was able to swallow her prejudice against the northern realm, for she knew it was petty and born of a foolish habit, not with any real sense or reason behind it.

"The World's Edge," Amaris supplied, a smirking tugging at the corner of her mouth as the pair made their limping way through the various caverns. "I was born there, but found myself wandering, particularly after the wraiths ravaged the lands and took my mother. Old habits die hard," she added with a wry glance to the ravenmare, "I find the familiar misty forests of the Edge soothing, comforting almost." She didn't really know what she was describing, or how to perfectly describe it, but instead hoped that the mare would simply understand, as she had successfully done so far.

"I don't think I've ever been so far north as to behold the Basin. I've ventured to the Steppe before - I think I might do so again soon, if these burns continue to itch as they heal," a small frown crinkled her brow as she watched where she walked carefully, her tender legs carrying her slowly, but steadily so far. Dramyrth had lifted from her back and was drifting alongside her, puffing breaths of cool, frosty air every now and then to offer some cooling comfort against the hot, melted burns of the mares.

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@Weaver

Amaris