PW: Dec. 7 (Sorrel- the Mists of Lere)

Travelling in Lere wasn’t romantic. One did not gaze out upon the landscape, enraptured by unfamiliar scenery. Not as they would when riding over the rolling hills of Risyr, or through the culturally-robust towns of Mirne.

Sorrel sat primly in a gilded carriage drawn by two Allestiun mares. The horses were worth more than some estates, and for good reason. They were the only breed capable of seeing through the thick mists that enveloped Leren lands, not to mention their implausible stamina and strength. Sorrel was rather fond of them. The stares of awe they evoked from commoners filled her with an imperious satisfaction.

Today, however, she felt no such satiety. Not after two weeks of travelling through the depressing mists. With the world around her so fully obscured, she at times wondered if she had somehow crossed into Shadir. This, of course, was impossible. Every Highborn knew the border between the planes had closed long ago. Believing the sorts of legends that claimed otherwise was far, far beneath her.

Only one more week until they arrived at the capital, her Rellent had promised. She doubted it. How could one discern time or distance when the haze shrouded even Ascere, the brightest of the suns? She worried that the Divine could not see her down here. Were the prayers she burned unable to pierce the dense mist? Perhaps they simply became lost within it, mingling throughout until they faded, never able to escape.

She tried to put the unsettling thoughts out of her mind, and absorbed herself instead in the glyphs of an extremely extensive, and extremely heavy, tome that outlined the complex politics of the Leren court.

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