frostspires;

Ada. Ada.

At first, the words did not register. Jendayi had brushed it off as a trick of the mind, a distant and blissful reverie of what once was hers. But soon, the ethereal voice had become far more real, and accompanied with it was a scent—familiar, home. Her dreams had never allowed her to smell the forests and wildberries, especially not so far north. Perhaps she was dying—but perhaps…

Jendayi turned, and the sudden silhouette soon took shape. The young maiden’s heart almost sunk in her chest, and the feathers of her heart tickled against her breast as it beat rapidly, far too fast for her to catch her breath. “Manna,” she breathed, and what once was familiar sounded foreign and strange off a tongue so trained on an alien language Yet, everything seemed to come back all at once. “Thu? Ahnsul? H-how did you find me?” she cried, her native tones slipping past the ones she had adopted to shut it all away.

Jendayi had found peace in her self-made exile. She had not anticipated anyone coming after her. It was, perhaps, the worst and best thing that had ever happened. It gave her some selfish inclination that she was missed, but likewise it had severed the careful walls she had built to separate herself from them. Jendayi quickly, and harshly, learned that she could not build her walls out of paper and silk. Next time, she would have to use stone and iron. Next time, she would have to ignore Manna altogether.

But her heart was ever so weak.