She moved like a shadow down the sand covered streets, silent and prowling like a feline. In the aftermath of the Davke attack many of the sandstone buildings still bore their scars; dark, wild burns that thrashed over their pale exteriors. The citizens who remained… some were empty, hollow things. Others had changed irrevocably, twisted and gnarled and no longer recognizable as the person they were before. Teiran had long since washed herself of the blood of war, but still it lingered, clinging to darkened corners and long alleyways. One could almost hear the screams of the dying faintly on the breeze, but maybe that was just the sound of it whistling through the cracks left behind in their psyche.

These dusty roads were the same unforgiving ones of her childhood, if not more bleak for the recent events. She remembered so little of it, just broken mirror fragments that cut through her in the dark of night. Over the years since Zolin’s murder so much had changed and yet so much remained the same. One thing was certain, and it was that Teiran would stand by the court whatever came to pass. She would help it rebuild, help to do whatever was required of her. So many underestimated her, and yet here she stood with more death on her hands than perhaps half the court could claim. More static in her thoughts, more demons clawing their way free of her skin.

At length she found herself moving through the halls of the court, hooves tapping rhythmically on the floors—a staccato that echoed and echoed its loneliness off the walls and down the empty lengths around her. The sight of the burned library forced Teiran to pause in her excursion. She stood outside its heavy, smoke stained doors, sage green eyes moving over what she could see through them as they hung partially open. Of course she had known that Seraphina had burned it, and a pang flashed through her at the loss of what had been stored within. It was an odd feeling, of missing something that had never really been hers though she had immersed herself more than once among the scrolls and books.

There would be more, one day. History would continue to be kept and tales would be written and one day it would be rebuilt and filled to the brim she was sure. Still, Teiran knew her days of wandering in and finding something to read, to occupy her time, were gone for now. The small woman was about to turn away and start back on her rounds when the sound of approaching steps had her turning her head. A well-known shape drifted toward her as if carried by the heavy summer winds, the sun glinting off the distinct collar at her neck. “Seraphina,” she said—familiarity an undercurrent to her otherwise invariable tone—as her sovereign approached.

"Speaking."

Seraphina turned toward Teiran and the rosy hued girl might have smiled had she understood the intricacies of companionism. As it were, she stood maybe a little less stiffly, looked on with less of a narrowed, inspecting gaze. She remembered more of their time in Viceroy's army than she cared to admit to herself, but of that she knew that Sera had spent most of her time at the man's side. Had she, more than any of them, been suscepted to different horrors? Teiran did not, could not know, and she would never ask.

"It is a quiet day in the Court," she spoke in response to the silver woman's inquiry to her patrolling, "Many are still recovering, staying indoors, I suppose." That was something she could not understand-recuperation, healing. All her life, even from her time as a small filly, Teiran had gone from one trial to another with never a moment in between to breathe. After the attack she had gone from fight mode to guard duty to hard laborer, passing along the walls ever alert, removing rubble and debris and bodies. Perhaps now she could say that they were safe but she refused to chance it.

"Clearing of burned rubble is coming along smoothly, I have taken some time to oversee it, between other duties." The words came out sounding more like a report, as though such duties had been anything but self-imposed. As far as Teiran was concerned, this was all the small talk she cared for, let alone knew how to carry out with any success. Her sage green eyes flickered over Seraphina's features, momentarily landing on the library before she stood alert once more.

There was perhaps a silent question there, lingering. What of the library? It would be a lie to say she did not want to know, but inquire she would not. She did not ask questions that had no bearing on her job as a soldier of Solterra. "Is there anything you would like me to do, Seraphina?" Teiran preferred to constantly be in motion, to always be occupied, and even on a good day she had little to attend to than her own patrols and odd jobs. Working toward the rebuilding of the Court certainly gave her more to do but she would not turn down any sort of direction or orders. The busier, the better.

"Speaking."

Teiran hadn't considered the fact that perhaps the reason nobody was out wandering the court was because they were afraid. Teiran didn't really understand fear. Maybe, she thought, she had felt it once, but the only things she remembered with any certainty were things. Hunger, pain, exhaustion. Everything else was lost, shut behind a wall that either would not or could not be scaled. Fear, she thought, explained some things, if it meant the people were expecting another attack.

She was not afraid. If there were to be another attack she would only come back fiercer, fight harder. Teiran would do whatever it took to keep this Court safe. Regardless, "No, there has been no sign of the Davke, although I do not intend to let my guard down." Her sage green eyes, often cold, were sharp like the point of the dagger she chose to fight with. Her sovereign's compliment is like rain, landing gently and running off her, and Teiran does not quite know how to reply, how to take the gentleness. In the end, she nods rather stiffly in recognition.

It is Seraphina's next words that seem to, at last, get some sort of reaction from her, as though proving she is not simply a flawed machine. Her gaze shifts, widening a fraction as the state of the library is laid before her. The rosy warrior follows her Queen through the rubble, stepping over what she guesses are remains of tables, bookshelves, pages. "I will get the job done," she says, whatever it is, she thinks. Perhaps she should reassure the silver woman of her trustworthiness, but it does not occur to her to. Her statement is all the reassurance she thinks is necessary.

The large iron door is opened and beyond it lies darkness with only flickering torches to light their way. Seraphina is silent and Teiran does not speak as they make their way down the staircase, eventually stepping into a small chamber. Her eyes alight on the scrolls and parchments and other pieces scattered about and she thinks she knows what has happened here. Something like a smile flickers across her face, barely there before it is gone again, fleeting. "You?" she guessed, for who else than the very one who had set fire to the library in the first place.

"Speaking."