"𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋
𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋? 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐈𝐓
𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄."
Baela Greywood has always known her duty. She has always known the path she was to take and the sacrifices she was to make in ord...
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SUMMERHALL THE MARCHES OF DORNE 259 A.C
MAERA GREYWOOD
“It's a harder way and it's come to claim her”
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆,
the castle was burning and nothing could stop the ravenous flames from swallowing everything in its wake. Hot, blistering waves of crimson fire lapped and licked away at the castle's once gleaming amber stone walls, no better than that of a hungry beast. Stone walls crumbled and melted away to sand under the fierce power of the flames, and sweetgrass burned and turned to nothing more than glowing embers in the haze of cloying smoke, drifting high into the night sky with the screams and shouts of terror that raged on into the bottomless sapphire currants of the gentle river around. Blue waters ran red from those burning, jumping with impetuous regard as they dove head-first into the bottomless depths, caring not for the dangers of the greedy waters or their ravenous hands that dared to drag them down to their cold depthless kingdom.
Some with more strength than the others whom the fire’s rage had blessed, had managed to survive the torrent and bustling waves of the river surrounding the blazing castle and made it over to the other side. Gasps and cries of relief-tinged agony echoed through the cool marshlands from those few collective survivors of the tragedy that raged on before them.
Maera Greywood stood in astonished horror on the muddy banks of the riverbed facing the opposite way of what had been the glorious castle, Summerhall. A keep once made of glittering amber-colored stone and shined like petrified sunlight in the daylight and had been the safe haven for weary dragons, but now was nothing more than a burning inferno. Chilling rivets of water ran a muddy path down her shaking form as it washed away the black ash and smoke that clung to her weary form, stinging like a nettle’s kiss against the inflamed burns that littered the pale of her skin in blistering blossoms. Such pain, though, was nothing more than a dull and distant thing to the Northern maiden as she stood frozen in horror to the chaos around her that raged on, unable to tear her watery gaze away from the fires that grew to mystifying heights and to those who fought an unwinnable battle to stop its power.
