The spray of the waterfall caught Iscara’s leg as she sat on a rock in the middle of the waterfall, looking out over the expanse of Mor Dhona.
She still remembered the lake from before. Before Cartenaeu. Before the battle of Silvertear skies. But she remembered the dragons coming most clearly, her first word had been when she pointed at the sky and named the winges beasts coming down to meet the Garlean threat.
It had been two full ten year since then. Not quite as long she since had last sat in this spot. Iscara plunged her hand into the icy water beside her, picking up the rocks and glass pieces she had thrown in there many years before. Her aunt had been right, what was once ragged pieces were now smooth, scoured by the constantly running water. Not exactly magic, but her younger self had found it hard to envision water being able to influence hard rocks in such a way.
Time. All it took was time. She jangled the rocks in her hand as she looked back out at the keeper of the lake, Midgardsommr. The Ishgardians did not have her trust, for a number of reasons, but if their astrologists weren’t mistaken, then he might be stirring. That caught her interest, as had the faint strains of dragon-song that had echoed around Coerthas.
It had been a while since she had visited her friends in Anyx Trine. Perhaps they would have the insights that the humans did not. And even if not, Iscara wanted to know what Vidofnir’s thoughts on her grandfather’s potential awakening were.
Princess of Dragons 