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TEN —— TELL THE WOLVES I'M HOME
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105 AC, STORM'S END.
There's a wild wind blowing, whirling Morrigan's stray hairs into a mess, and it is magnificent. Her eyes are closed, a peaceful smile on her face as they approach the castle upon the edge of the cliffs of Durran's Point, and there's a contentedness in her, she has not felt since the day she left— nearly two years ago now.
It feels like coming home to a part of her very soul she'd lost that day. It feels like being whole again.
Already from the distance, they can make out the tiny shapes of people— a procession awaiting their small group of riders that grows larger with the shrinking distance to the castle, and a brilliant smile spreads on Morrigan's face when she recognises her sister— a small girl she does not recognize but whole name she would know even in death, with dark curls jumping up and down patiently, waving at her.
Morrigan does not even remember the last time she smiled like this.
(That's a lie— she knows exactly when and where and with whom. But she does know like to think about him and any of it, and so— she doesn't remember the last time she smiled like this, it's been so long.)
By the time they reach the waiting crowd, Morrigan ahs put a name to every and all of the faces awaiting her, and it is Floris who is bouncing on her feet, hands holding Cassandra's tightly like it is the only thing holding her back from running ahead— Ellyn is too tall now, too old to be this young girl, even if she is still so infinitely small to Morrigan's eyes.
Morrigan is almost sure there are tears in her mother's eyes— she knows there are tears in Cassandra's, because she knows what her sister looks like when she cries— when she dismounts her horse and the servants, people she'd grown up around, who'd partaken in raising her, bow slightly as she does.
