So no word of an Empire.

Eirwen stares, makes her vision harder as she squints, searches for the evidence of a lie on the stony woman's face. None exists and she feels something surge at the base of her chest, above her stomach, and in her throat.

She grunts, looks back at the stronghold of snow she had just traversed, groves of trees breaking the monotony of white. Who does she search for? A warrior, like her? Maybe she will meet herself, she thinks, another vision of white who has all the answers. Closing her eyes briefly, she tries to remember the face of who she served, but all she sees is black.

"Your guess is as good as mine," she grunts, whipping her tail. "Landed face first in the snow and. . . I must have been fighting." The taste of blood is fresh on her tongue still, though when she'd awoken, there was no proof of anyone but herself. "I remember my name." She barks out a cruel laugh and it is an ugly noise. "Remember the Empire. That's all."