She was up early, again. Not troubled or restless, she could see the path before her clearly and resolutely. The bower had grown too cold as it seemed the snowfall had continued throughout the night. After tea was delivered and the fire tended she gathered a fur robe about herself and leaned up against the mullioned windows, her violet-haunted gaze focused on the glade below.

Teveriel had probably been up for hours at this point but you wouldn’t know it by the swing of his arm as he cut through the air with his blunted sword. His aim was true time and time again, slashing into a barkless tree marked with notches to represent the heights of various enemies. There was a new notch this morning, one towering above the others and he seemed to swing relentlessly at it with grim determination.

“The berserker,” she thought as she adjusted the teacup in her hands to palm the bottom of it while her other steadied the handle, taking a pause to flex her fingers and release some of the stiffness. No doubt this was a result of her attempting to aid Akenna last night with the imbuing of runes. Such tedious work, manipulating the elements. Not like people.

The flurry of hacking sounds pulled her from her thoughts as Teveriel made a rapid assault against the tree. She knew the idea of Zerroth’s return had brought him dark thoughts and opened old wounds that never really healed. But that wasn’t all the news there was to consider. Her carmine lips pulled into a faint smile before she took another sip of tea. She longed to have this chapter concluded and return east. There was so much to do. Parties to plan, dinners to host as the festive season drew near.

And then there was her harp. People had said before that she was something of an artist at it. She'd like to earn that title once more.