Snippet #1252861

The wind howled along a ridge that overlooked a part of the Deadlands, reflecting the anguish of the people who forced to go beyond it. This ridge was the point at which all exiles were forced to leave from, to set out across the Deadlands to reach the lands beyond. This ridge was a place of introspection and thought, looking back upon their time in Tyvern. This ridge was the point of no return.

Upon this ridge there stood three people. None of them had met before today, but they all had something in common; these were the last moments that they would spend in their homeland. One of these people, the only girl among them, was Miralda Cristina de Reon, or at least she had been. With her exile, she lost her title of "de Reon," and was merely Miralda Cristina. She was born and raised as a noble, but she was now only a mere commoner. Strangely, however, that didn't bother her at the moment. At the moment, she only felt the hollow melancholy on the thought of leaving her homeland forever. But she knew that she could not stay.

She turned to look at her companions. One was a boy who looked about her age, while the other was a man who looked a good bit older. They would travel together across the Deadlands, then perhaps further into the surrounding countries. With a look, she saw that they both felt the same thing; it was time to leave. She saddled up and started to ride with them in silence, waiting for one of them to start the conversation.