95 Vhalar 720
Rest in peace.
Now, wasn't that funny?
A routine sentiment, Yeva knew how little peace there could actually be. On the other side. In that place. The obsession. The wandering. The screaming.
"Almost there, miss."
She blinked, unaware she had been staring at the horizon with a blank expression until she noticed the concerned look in the man's eye. He was too polite to comment on it, but she could see his question, debating with himself on whether he should ask if she was alright, if she needed a drink of water. Yeva watched him scratch the underside of his scraggly white beard and the furrow of his brow. Plastering a smile on her face, she leaned forward to pat Stroyski on his neck. It had been a small miracle he had been returned to her, but then again, being back on Idalos was a miracle in itself. All because of one woman.
"Thank you."
Yeva closed her eyes as the mount moved steadily beneath her weight. She would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous about going back, so close to the very spot she had been burned alive. But returned to life, she had unfinished business. And after a few days of recovery and reunion with her family, a mental and physical evaluation at the Order, and lots of time alone with her thoughts, Yeva was ready.
Ready to tackle that unfinished business.
Ponied to the man's horse, and a small group ferrying supplies, Yeva wiped away the beads of sweat that collected beneath her hairline. Prior to her death, she had been Fireforged and along with that honor, had the capability of being comfortable in any temperature extreme. Now? She felt hot beneath the ruthless suns, wondering why some changes stayed and others did not. Baskara's voice was gone, returned to Faldrass, but her scar... her scar remained, a bond with Cassion that not even death could cut with its brutal shears.
The traveler's shared their stories all the way to Storm's Edge. Yeva, listening, stuffed that lingering bitterness into the pit of her stomach where all the other unpleasant feelings had come to reside within her and kept her focus on the destination. The sooner they were there, the sooner she could give her proper thanks to
Mrs. Creede.
That's what the woman - Vivian, she had come to learn - had said at the Ball. Yeva had been so weak, so confused, so startled, so thankful, she hadn't been able to express herself, nor did she remember who she needed to extend her gratitude towards. Faces were familiar, but things had happened so quickly that day in the Storm Wastes, the name was just one of many. More things to do. Always.
Once they arrived, she began to climb down and tip the men for allowing her to ride with them, offering a couple coins to each and exhaled, drawing Stroyski's reigns to get him settled at a hitching post. Her search would begin in earnest, "Where are you?" she swept the local with her eyes, heading to the training grounds, where she imagined most soldiers would be. She remembered the red hair, curled and crazed like her own, Yeva knew how noticeable such a trait could be, and it was just the thing she needed to finally spot the woman, her mouth suddenly dry. Chewing her bottom lip, she took a deep breath, coming up short as to not get in the tall fighter's way, "Excuse me," she called, clasping her hands together before she could wring them, "Are you Mrs. Creede?"
Despite her anxious feelings, she smiled and it was genuine, "I believe I owe you my deepest thanks."
Now, wasn't that funny?
A routine sentiment, Yeva knew how little peace there could actually be. On the other side. In that place. The obsession. The wandering. The screaming.
"Almost there, miss."
She blinked, unaware she had been staring at the horizon with a blank expression until she noticed the concerned look in the man's eye. He was too polite to comment on it, but she could see his question, debating with himself on whether he should ask if she was alright, if she needed a drink of water. Yeva watched him scratch the underside of his scraggly white beard and the furrow of his brow. Plastering a smile on her face, she leaned forward to pat Stroyski on his neck. It had been a small miracle he had been returned to her, but then again, being back on Idalos was a miracle in itself. All because of one woman.
"Thank you."
Yeva closed her eyes as the mount moved steadily beneath her weight. She would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous about going back, so close to the very spot she had been burned alive. But returned to life, she had unfinished business. And after a few days of recovery and reunion with her family, a mental and physical evaluation at the Order, and lots of time alone with her thoughts, Yeva was ready.
Ready to tackle that unfinished business.
Ponied to the man's horse, and a small group ferrying supplies, Yeva wiped away the beads of sweat that collected beneath her hairline. Prior to her death, she had been Fireforged and along with that honor, had the capability of being comfortable in any temperature extreme. Now? She felt hot beneath the ruthless suns, wondering why some changes stayed and others did not. Baskara's voice was gone, returned to Faldrass, but her scar... her scar remained, a bond with Cassion that not even death could cut with its brutal shears.
The traveler's shared their stories all the way to Storm's Edge. Yeva, listening, stuffed that lingering bitterness into the pit of her stomach where all the other unpleasant feelings had come to reside within her and kept her focus on the destination. The sooner they were there, the sooner she could give her proper thanks to
Mrs. Creede.
That's what the woman - Vivian, she had come to learn - had said at the Ball. Yeva had been so weak, so confused, so startled, so thankful, she hadn't been able to express herself, nor did she remember who she needed to extend her gratitude towards. Faces were familiar, but things had happened so quickly that day in the Storm Wastes, the name was just one of many. More things to do. Always.
Once they arrived, she began to climb down and tip the men for allowing her to ride with them, offering a couple coins to each and exhaled, drawing Stroyski's reigns to get him settled at a hitching post. Her search would begin in earnest, "Where are you?" she swept the local with her eyes, heading to the training grounds, where she imagined most soldiers would be. She remembered the red hair, curled and crazed like her own, Yeva knew how noticeable such a trait could be, and it was just the thing she needed to finally spot the woman, her mouth suddenly dry. Chewing her bottom lip, she took a deep breath, coming up short as to not get in the tall fighter's way, "Excuse me," she called, clasping her hands together before she could wring them, "Are you Mrs. Creede?"
Despite her anxious feelings, she smiled and it was genuine, "I believe I owe you my deepest thanks."

