Every night since then, she had thanked the All-Maker that her younger sister hadn’t been old enough to remember their mother, at least enough to miss her. Her harsh raspy voice from lungs hardened by the wracking cough that swept through the region a decade earlier, the soft edge to her wizened features that only a mother could achieve despite a life of hard toil, the distinct tinkling sound of her laughter and how she had called them both her little miracles. She had been a beautiful griffon, so very beautiful even in spite of her age, well past child bearing age when she had them both. It was too much to bear, too much to see the light of those beautiful magenta eyes snuffed out forever. It was a pain that bit too deep to bear whenever she recalled her beauty. How she chided herself for a fool to have gone back to see only the charred ruin that remained of her.