It had been a long year. Ridahne, despite all her experience, had officially never traveled so far and so much in her life. She'd been to Orosi and Eluri before, of course, but there was still so much of both of the elf tribe lands that she had not explored until she'd done it with Darin. Many were places she would not have gone to ordinarily, like small little villages in northwestern Orosi where the primary staple of the economy was the coffee trade. It was a different type of farming than what Darin was used to, and yet still farming all the same. The locals were very pleased to show Darin all about the plants and their bright red fruit, and how the seeds inside were extracted, dried, roasted, and brewed. Ridahne got to learn more about it than she ever thought possible--about how different ways of brewing, or different types of soil or ways of drying the crop all made dramatic differences in the final flavor of the beverage. Some were small communities that shared all their food and resources communally. They had excellent bonfires each night. In one of the larger Orosian cities, Ridahne traded small finger tattoos with an old Orosi inkmaster who had to be at least six hundred years old, with hair like white marble that contrasted his dark skin like a splash of paint. 

But there had been hardship, too. The Red Hand  was ever a threat, and Ridahne was thoroughly tested against them. Once, she captured one alive and interrogated him for twenty straight hours. He'd been so resistant to cooperating and swore he'd never speak, but after Ridahne tied him up by his ankles and hung him in a tree like a grim spider hangs her prize, spinning him occasionally, and after she'd employed a few other methods, some subtle and some not, he'd broken and told her the location of his comrade's hiding place. Ridahne had snuck in during the night and burned it down. One encounter was especially bad. It had been short, and she had not come away as badly injured as she had near the border of north Eluri so long ago. And still somehow Ridahne felt worse for it. The fight had been short and grim, but during it, one of the women very intentionally swung her knife at Ridahne's face. The tip barely caught the end of her nose, blessedly in a place where there was no ink. And after the fight had been won, the traumatized warrior cried for three days. Death was a path they all must take in their own time, but no one deserved to lose their soul, Ridahne explained. 

The Ridahne that sat in the sand of the southern coast of Orosi was a more relaxed one than the Ridahne Darin met on the roadside. This wasn't to say she was lax in her vigilance--that had only increased, and she was even more wary of strangers. But with Darin, she was wholly herself. Unfiltered, unabashed, unashamed. This Ridahne told more jokes, taught Darin sailing songs, and sometimes helped braid Darin's hair while she was getting the hang of it, or would occasionally braid and tie it in the Azurei fashion just for fun while they sat by the evening fire. This Ridahne cried openly when she had occasional nightmares, and laughed more, sang more, told folk stories more. She trusted Darin wholly and without question, even when her friend gave her praise or compliments. That took a long time, but it finally clicked. And truly, she loved Darin like the human had always been her younger sister. This Ridahne had become increasingly more bold and perhaps even proud of her own history, however ugly it might have been. This Ridahne laughed at the few Azurei they encountered that jeered at her, and cursed at her. She saved words and explanations for those she thought might actually hear them, but did not waste them on anyone else. 

As they ventured further and further south, and further east, and as the dusty earth shifted from a dun beige color to a deep, rusty red, there was a small change in Ridahne, however. It was like the days leading up to their approach to The Tree, where she'd gone more quiet and more withdrawn. Except now, she was not trying to hide from Darin. She told her so one night, and explained that if she was more quiet than usual, it was simply because she was still trying to sort out her own feelings about her homecoming. It was some mix of anticipation, built up over the last year, and excitement, and worry, and a wistfulness. And grief, too. She talked about it with Darin whenever she could actually find the words for any of it. Azurei, after all, represented everything she used to be--the good and the bad--and for her it held an inner demon that, though it no longer haunted her, still belonged to her and needed to be addressed. Mostly, she was excited though. 

That excitement had really surfaced when she got to show Darin the ocean for the first time. It wasn't the same beaches she grew up on, but it still somehow felt like showing Darin a piece of her. The sea was her heritage, her family's livelihood, and also its undoing. Ridahne told Darin of how her father had drowned at sea while trying to save another crew member in a storm, but also would swim out and dive deep for crabs and clams for their dinner, and would bring back broken bits of long-dead coral to show Darin. She showed her how to build and sculpt moist sand into tiny little fortresses that crumbled at the first wave of high tide. She told her of the tides, too, and how they corresponded with the moon, and ocean currents, and how those currents affected animal migration. She'd even, though bitter experience, taught Darin about the little pale jellyfish that sometimes got swept up in the waves. Ridahne had howled when it stung her, but the pain faded the next day.

Ridahne sat with her back to the fire and a little ways away from it, staring out at the dim points of deeper shadow on the eastern horizon. Distant mountains that formed the outer edges of the Dust Sea. She knew, even without the light of the sun that those mountains were red, red like carnelian or jasper. Mitaja's russet coat often blended in with the iron-rich earth if the lighting was right. She held a bundle of cloth in her lap and was absently fingering its tasseled edges. Two weeks ago, at a small mining village, Ridahne had commissioned a standard from a local tailor. She'd insisted on the best materials, and though the man had charged a substantial but reasonable price for his work, Ridahne had paid him a small fortune. "It needs to be your best work, and we won't be here very long," she'd explained. After she'd handed him a little cloth sack of coins, he was eager to do so. It really was beautiful. It would be an heirloom for her house, and it bore her new, modified sigil. It was still a seahorse, its head raised high, but it also incorporated her guardian mark she'd created for herself. It did not obviously mark Darin as the Seed-Bearer, but it was [I]hers[/I] and her people would come to know it. It wasn't something she wanted to travel with--she'd leave it with Ajoran or Hadian for the time being--but since she could not slip into Azurei unnoticed, well...she was going to make an [I]entrance.[/I]

It was one of the nights where she was more withdrawn, still trying to articulate her own feelings. Darin also seemed to need space to probably do the same and Ridahne was alright with that. She just kept picturing how the meeting with the Sols would go--had they picked a new one to replace Khaltira? Surely by now... Ridahne wondered who she might be, and what kind of person she was. As she was contemplating this, the noticed a shimmer of reflected moonlight in the distance that had not been there before. It was a dim sort of reflection, not the bright glint of white light against water. But instead a faint mist of silvery pale darkness that separated itself from the dark landscape around it. 

Dust. From a horse's hooves.

Ridahne rose suddenly. "Darin," she said loudly, sharply. By now, Ridahne did not have to explain further what that tone meant, nor what they needed to do to prepare. Someone was coming directly at them. The elf carefully stashed her new banner in her saddlebags and drew her sword, letting the smooth metal glint off the light of the mostly full moon. The rider came closer, riding hard. Ridahne stood her ground, sword at the ready, when finally the rider drew close enough to see clearly in the moonlight. He checked his brown horse to a stop and dismounted, but hesitated. Ridahne didn't, though.

"Hadian!" She dropped her sword and rushed him as she gasped the word, nearly knocking him over as she wrapped her arms around him. "Hadian!" she choked out again, immediately starting to cry. He squeezed her just as hard, then pulled back to get a look at her. 
"Ridahne!" he was crying a little too, but also laughing. "It's you! It's really you! I had a vision that you'd be here and I...I..." his face wrinkled, his own ojih distorting a little as he studied hers. He blinked. "Ridahne, what...is this? I can't read it..." 
"That's because I made it. They're new marks. People will learn them in time." 
His eyes went wide. "You...[I]made[/I] them?" His tone was awed. That was a story he wanted to hear, but he wouldn't ask just yet. "Ridahne I...you...you look so..." He was going to say [I]hard[/I], like a once smooth hand that through long labor, formed callouses. But that felt like it would spoil the moment, so he said, "Different. Older, somehow. I still can't believe you're alive and you're here, and..."

Hadian's breath caught as he seemed to remember why exactly Ridahne had gone away. At the time, the notion seemed fantastical, unrealistic, and a little crazy. But then even he started to hear rumors of a Seed Bearer. His honey gaze slid over to Darin and his mouth dropped open. "Can it be...?" he breathed, taking a step closer. He looked so much like Ridahne, and if it weren't for the inexplicably older, more mature look to him, one might almost guess he was her male twin. But it was clear, too, they had lived different lives. He had calloused hands and wrinkles were just beginning to form at the corners of his eyes--a product of a life spent on the sea and under the relentless ire of the sun. His ojih was simpler and covered less of his face. His demeanor was...softer, too. Physically, he was just as hard and weathered as Ridahne, but his eyes were a little gentler. He was the kind of man who saw much, listened often, and spoke little. If Ridahne was fire, he was the sea. Placid and cool, yet hiding an inexorable will underneath the surface. 

Hadian dropped to one knee and breathed, "Astra-Sol!" as he began to bow, but Ridahne caught his shoulder. 
"Don't," she said gently, teasingly, knowing Darin would rather not be hailed as royalty. "Stop gaping and get up. I'd...like to introduce you to Darin, though to anyone else, she's Martin Lively and don't forget it. But..." Ridahne drew in a nervous breath and said, "Hadian, this is Darin. Darin, this is my brother." 

Hadian eyed Ridahne, reading something in her expression that hadn't quite been said. He was always so good at that. And, gathering from this that he should do away with formalities, he turned back to Darin, closed the gap between them in a couple swift steps, and wrapped her in an iron hug so strong that only a laborer could really achieve it. "Thank you for bringing my sister back to me."