Andarin: The Mountains: tut tut, how very unkind; accendare, fenris

Well, there wasn't very much to do but sigh. Spies are truly a nasty bunch, aren't they? Fickle b###hes and bastards, the lot of them. As soon as Enola Gay was free from the safety of her rank, one took the chance - not even with the decency of a well-laid riddle, but by right of a title. Well, to be fair, who is she really to judge; my Vane hasn't riddled her way to theivery in quite some time. She wonders if she would be so baseless as to nick someone during the last heaving gasps of this very world, whisk them away with the knowledge that they will likely be held prisoner till the end of days. She might do it... might have done it, if it had occurred to her, if she wanted someone badly enough. But, then, Enola doesn't want for much of anything, so it's quite a tricky scenario to contemplate, non?

On another track, Enola Gay has never held much esteem in the idea of prisoners - she plays by the rules of this land because it's easier to comply and not because she feels found by them. If she had truly been disinclined to comply, she simply would have smiled most generously and turned her back. Taken to the air, maybe, as had been her original plan, with a happy "to hell with the lot of you!" glance over her shoulder. But this was a much more entertaining way to spend these final hours. And Passchendaele was getting quite a lovely bit of travel in his youth... chalk it all to experience, my poor burnt lonely little child. With thoughts of her son she finds her mind drifting unexpectedly to Chapal; she refuses to dwell on empty musings for long but cannot help a fleeting thought, a quick hope that he might return to them; just for a little while, she thinks, before everything is scattered and everyone is lost, before love is disintegrated by Time, almost as if it were tangible, like stones to sand.

She makes her way over to Fenrisulfr, remembering the fleeting encounter they'd had in Ni'Sirlan before my Vane was nabbed. Their encounters always seemed to be that way, wouldn't you say? Rather fleeting and rather empty, neither really caring for the other and yet bound to one another by blood and perhaps a vague curiosity, that they should indeed be so closely related, and, on Enola's part, that chance should play so peculiar a role as to elevate her abandoned daughter to leadership and some level of fame. The ways of the world amuse Enola Gay most endlessly.

"Hello again, Fenrisulfr." What a strange scenario, to speak to one's only daughter now as prisoner to Queen. Well, would be strange, if Enola were partial to such labels, and could ever feel inferior or weak.