Dawn was coming. The night had given view of the battles along the bridge. The noises had kept her awake, forcing her to toss and turn before it’d become too much to endure from bed. Donning her greaves, the woman stepped from the bed in the tower, the door opening to allow that cold wind to sweep over the floor and around her body, blasting her with a chill that brought a gasp to her throat.
Tinaviel fought forward, determined now that the sounds had grown quiet. But still her eyes could catch the sparks of dying dragon fire. Flames that flickered around the edges of the bridge before they were carefully extinguished by knights and guards of the crossing.
She would never be able to pick anyone out among the chaos, this distance and weather already breaking her view of the lull in battle. Morning brought fog and storms, things that would further trap her inside the walls of this camp. Or rather, prison. She’d found only one walking so freely outside the warmth of towers. Perhaps the others she’d merely been able to avoid. Yet, if Leingard were here… then…
Tinaviel shook her head, closing her eyes before taking in a long inhale of the winter air. Her pulse had sped, her hands flexing to keep warm before her eyes turned skyward, focusing on the dimness that blotted the sun as the wind beat against her clothing.
“Alistaire. Are you among them in such false ambitions? You boys were always father’s favorites…”