Quote Originally Posted by Diva De View Post
Isa stifles a scream as the giant bird destroys a home before Murska challenges it. She doesn't even notice the fight, her gaze locked on the crumbling ruins of what was once a home - her home. The house where she had grown up, the home that contained their business as well as their beds - gone. Her knees weak, Isa crumples to the ground and sobs. At 19, she had never spent a night away from home, aside from the month she spent training as a bard in the capital. Memories of meals, birthdays, holidays - all flashed before her eyes and then were gone. Unable to speak the words that - to her - would make it real, Isa looked at her neighbors, tearful green eyes silently begging someone to offer her a place to stay.
Down the street, the hunched figure meanders, as though unaware of the many dangers around it. He twisted and tangled, slipped and sprung. Turning a crazed cartwheel, he came to find himself before a memoria of sorrow. Paused, he, tilted head to one side as he regarded the wren.

"Shells break so that new birds may fly. A nest is a nest for the birds within; not for the twigs and leaves that weave it."

"Can you sing, pretty wren, when all is smoke and ashes?"