The last of my cities have burned

“It meant more back when mares were considered less than among the islands.”

It is not the response Temple expects, but she chews on it all the same. The sanctuary bit makes sense to her, and from there she begins to understand the weight of purpose the Peak must have served. Not just a sanctuary, but a beacon, as well. It might be different in the daylight, but in the darkness the place feels rather desolate. Empty. A good sign, perhaps; a sanctuary that is not needed is a sanctuary that has served its purpose.

Or, perhaps, a sanctuary that has simply fallen behind the times.

“I’m sure the good fight of these mares isn’t the only problem on these islands,” she muses. “A tool might be intended for a specific purpose, but not all other uses will shatter it. If it’s a good tool, anyway.”

She follows the other mare, her gaze sliding with passive curiosity over the stones and the hardy little plants that grow between them. “Temple,” she responds simply to Oswin’s introduction. Her umber eyes shift from the surroundings as they walk, and fall on the Peak mare, looking her over as fog recedes a bit. “No, not long. Two or three days,” she says. A dry smile curls her dark lips. “I didn’t actually know there was more than one island until you mentioned it a minute ago.”

TEMPLE