The Howff had become a place of recovery as much as it was refuge, the wound left behind by the battle had largely healed, but not without reminders. Some mornings when she rose too quickly or twisted the wrong way, a dull ache still lingered along her ribs where the break had once been. But the pain no longer slowed her as it had in those first weeks, and she grew more and more restless eager to find her way back home. And so, Dyname emerged from the inn stepping into the warmth of the afternoon sun.

Spring was holding Mythris now and its touch showed plainly upon her. The deep grey coat she carried through the winter was shifting beneath the seasons influence. Along her shoulders, back, and flanks faint hues of violet started to bloom through the softer greys, dusks colors bleeding slowly across calm water.

Dyname paused on the porch for a moment, gaze drifting toward the gardens where Lyra busied herself with what appeared to be a fierce and deeply personal disagreement with several flower bulbs and she considered offering assistance. Then reconsidered. Some battles were best left to their chosen combatants.

With quiet amusement lingering beneath her otherwise composed expression, she descended the steps and started across the ground. The movement revealing only the faintest hitch in her stride, the lingering stiffness that surfaced now and then.

She moved forward without haste without purpose, attention wandering over the grounds and the distant trees beyond.

The breeze shifted, bringing a scent of home past her, salt and ocean spray causing her chest to tighten and her pace to slow ears drawing forward as she stood there; listening. Hoping.

—