Glaesfaet Sceawere is the name gifted to the mother river that flows through the center of Blossom Forest, bringing life and sustenance to all of the lands. It breaks off in many places, giving birth to smaller streams and estuaries, but the main body flows from the lake high in the north in Dierne Hrof all the way south down through Uyaraut to empty into the ocean. It is a fresh water river, but down through Uyaraut, the salt water does taint it. In places, parts of the river are underground and run through caverns unseen from aboveground.
Water buffalo grace these shores - with plenty of meat, though at a dangerous cost. Many river trout leap upstream daily.
Already silently planning their next move—the invisible slides around a chessboard designed to keep them safe—Losa watched her midnight titan struggle to drag himself into the river’s gentler shallow current. They had tortured him so ruthlessly . . . it caught her breath to see him wince with each labored movement, jaws clamped firmly around any sounds of agony, brutally battered body as rickety as a once grand ship about to splinter to pieces. Aindreas is an alpha—he should have access to healers. To sanctuary. Did the rainbow princess’s Ofer feel her distress at this very moment? Did Aindreas sense the way her heart clenched tight enough to snap its strings? Perhaps the quiet Tempest knew the way Losa’s own dawn-painted canvas burned with sympathetic pain to mirror the physical damage shredded into her chosen’s flesh, how she found herself shuddering and choking back a cry when a heavy lurching step parted a laceration on Hurricane’s shoulder and wept blood. Please let Aindreas have a doctor. Please let Hurricane make it that far. Just as the thought crossed her mind, her mismatched heavens locked with Hurricane’s twin suns. A naked expression of torment crossed the obsidian gladiator’s face before he could hide it from her. That split second, that mere heartbeat wherein Torneach revealed how very gravely he’d been hurt, speared Losa with the jagged edges of guilt and grief. Why had no one allowed her to study the medical arts? Why could she do nothing but tremble in the presence of her favorite guard, plots racing through her mind, able to scheme potential futures yet fail to truly aid him?