text: Dellian was not fond of this place. No, she was far from fond of it. The Northern Mistlands were not like her home in the west. The wet ground made a wet sloshing sound as her horse’s hooves embedded itself into it. There were no blue skies in this part of the world, no bright days, for a perpetual early morning seemed to hang over this land, shrouding it in the eternal mist that it was so known for. A mist so thick that she could barely see her fellow refugee that was riding, not but five feet to her side. What she could see was far from comforting. Trees either taller than the towers of the fallen city that she once called home, or short, crooked, and sad things that her father called weeping willows. Occasionally, she noticed bursts of movement in the mist that she preyed were just other refugees, not some malevolent force, plotting her gruesome demise just outside of her vision. In fact, she knew she had seen evil things here. Her only comfort was that she knew that those evil things were not real, just her mind shaping the mist into vague shapes that resembled the twisted things that had laid waste to her home. But it was a shallow comfort, as it meant only she was safe from the things that she could see, and not the overwhelming majority of things she could not. She rubbed one gloved hand across the back of her white mares’ neck, his mane wet with condensation. “Don’t worry, I know you're scared, but I’ll protect you” she whispered to the animal. She knew that he would not say anything back like the wise horses she had met once before, but she hoped that her lie comforted the animal. It served the purpose of raising her confidence a little at least. She knew that she had to be brave, if not for her, for her horse, and her dolly hidden under her oversized baggy cloak. And with her mother, and father obscured by the mist, it made the burden feel like hers, and hers alone. “Hold” a voice shouted from where she assumed was the head of the pack. She started to slow down her mare, happy to hear one of her companion’s voices again. But as her horse slowed to a stop, the mist started to fade a little. Ghostly horseback figures began to appear all around, and she was eventually able to make out the other refugees in their soaked hide cloaks. A small smile crept across her lips as she saw her father’s sturdy chestnut only about ten feet in front of her. But once the fog had lifted enough for her to see into the distance, she threw back her hood and stared forward in awe. They had stopped just at the edge of a bluff, and the rest of the Mistlands slay before them. A huge ocean of bluish-green foliage that seemed to never end. Untouched streams ran through the forest, and she caught a flock of birds taking to the sky from one of the trees. From this height she could even see the pale blue sky and the sun, its light hitting the mist down below, making it glisten. The fear didn’t leave her, after what she had seen she doubted it would ever leave her. But something else joined it in the pit of her stomach. She wouldn’t call it hope, for it was something less naive and self-centered. She felt determination.