War.

How many times now had I seen its bloody claws rake at the doorstep of my home? My father led a mighty herd here, years ago, but he was a mortal, he fell from the throne he had built in a war much like this one. The lands fell to the mists, and after a time, the Goddess I had dedicated my life to had chosen a new liege, the FrostHeart. I had often wondered at her choice, but never did I question it. Gods work in mysterious ways, and while I did my best to understand them, I too was a mortal, gifted with longevity and wisdom, and sometimes foresight. But still, that did not mean I had the gall to question her actions. I knew not the part she played in leading the Qian to our borders, in encouraging them to build up and overthrow the herd that resided here. The Plague thought me blind to their ways, a simple Seer, a reader of mists. I saw their downfall, but I also saw their chance of success, the outcome had not been assured until the mists abandoned them and welcomed the Qian.

Now the Qian stands to fight once more, as old residents come to try and take back their old home. Others fight too, some who had fought on the side of the Qian those many moons ago, now fighting on the other side. I knew not the outcome of this battle until now, until the mists celebrated the continued residence of those whom they had grown used to. Did I rejoice? Perhaps, in my own way. There was no new faces to get used to, no new laws, no new leader to bow my head to and serve until the next one came along. A dragonsong permeated the atmosphere, and I did smile at the sound, even if it sung a sorrowful tune. It was a song unique as it was common here now, and its place was fitting for the end of yet another battle. I walked towards the borders that had been won, my violet eyes falling upon those who were injured, those who fled, my expression sympathetic. I wander towards the warrior who limped about calling for his daughter, tilting my crown to him and his dragon. There is little I can offer besides my presence.

"The Edge remains the Qian's." My words are quiet, as the mists dance around my frame - sometimes seeming to become a part of my frame as the breeze sways my silken tresses. "None of our own have fallen." I say, though it is not entirely true. I feel the whispers of a dragon struggling, the pain and suffering of those awaiting a healer's attentions. I attempt once more to offer some form of comfort to the WingLeader of our herd. "All will be well, Destrier."