She cannot watch him run away. Isra knows that if she does--
If she watches that boy run for the shore (that boy that burned her city and hurt her citizens), she will be unable to keep her magic from changing the ground beneath his hopeful hoofs to quicksand. She might change his skin to stone then, and watch as he inhaled all that wet dirt just like her city had inhaled the smoke and soot from his fires.
So she turns away and walks towards her dragon that is still watching him go with those frozen, furious eyes. Fable looks so like the sea that she knows she should be a little afraid of the power of him, the might, the way he could devour any city she pointed him towards right now. But all she can see when she looks at him is love and something that can be just as full of hope or full of fury as her magic.
Isra lays her cheek across his foreleg. She whispers “shhh, shhh, shhh” to him. She whispers like the sea to his scale, all brine and barely controlled power. He settles just enough to stop that terrible roaring, kneeing he's making. Isra does not pull away until the blood beneath his scales throbs like a low stream instead of a rip current.
“The tide is low.” Isra taps her horn against his wing as he tucks them back to his sides. A reminder perhaps, or maybe nothing more than a promise between weapons that later there will be blood enough. Either way it makes Fable turn his gaze from the boy as he disappears into the horizon.
He follows his unicorn to the sea-- always to the sea.
@Abel
