Once more the trickle of pink-tinged light greeted the faun and her company, peeking nervously over the horizon as they set out upon the mission that would be fate-defying. Their names, if successful, would be immortalised in history books, and even the names of the goats they rode would be whispered in awe in the corners of tavern houses.

This was not the destiny Celandine had originally considered for herself. It was neither her intention of coming to this land of technology and mystery, nor the individual desire she had set. It was her mother, after all, who had firstly volunteered and then encouraged her as the diplomat for the Aleraran mission - a mission which had twisted emphatically from simple politics to fearsome fighting for one's life and honour.

With clattering hooves the shorthaired goats sped their easy way down the sharp inclines of the Jagged Mountains, hopping and racing from rock to rock without hesitation. Their ungulate toes perfectly gripped the crevices and cracks, allowing a pristine balance as they bore their riders deeper into Alerar. Looking back behind her Celandine found herself grinning at the panicked look still upon Vanimar's face - one which had been there since he had been told they were going by goat-back.

"But horses," he had whispered. "Horses or - or even a train …"

But the steam locomotives that connected the major cities of Alerar - true masterpieces of their revolutionary produce - had been silent and unseen for weeks. Where to even begin in discovering where one might be found, and then trusting that the rail lines were still entirely intact for the whole journey, was impossible to source fact for, let alone rumour. There was no track either that was known to go directly to Sanctuary, and without the knowledge it was hopeless to even suggest such a thing.

And so goats it had been, for goats was what steeds the dwarves possessed.

"You're fine," the young faun teased her companion. "Just grip with your hooves."

"Feet and ankles," Vanimar grumbled, sinking further down into his saddle.

"Ankles. Yes!" She responded, and didn't stop smiling as she turned ahead to view the leaders of their company.

Steadfast and Bolor kept close to one another, riding on matching black-coated steeds. Serene determination was upon their faces, as if nothing more could falter the hope they held in their hearts.

Celandine's goat loudly bleated as he took a great leap into the air, launching himself from a rocky outcrop. Gripping tightly she sharply dragged in her breath and then held it as her and it flew. Seconds harmlessly passed, silent as the wind, before coming down again with a heavy thump and then continuing to gallop over the next pathway. Excitement beat wildly at her chest, filling the faunish tendency to love a race in the open air. She felt free, and lacking in fear as if this was what she was meant to do.

But the old days of her adventuring desires were over. Despite finding this excursion exhilarating, Celandine knew that her passions still lay in books and legend. She felt the sword of destinies flat against her back, tied tight and then hidden under a large shawl. She thought back to when she had met Steadfast and his company earlier that day, and how she had recognised him directly as an adventuring type. It seemed her senses and instincts of people were becoming sharper; a hint of perhaps her blessing and ken growing.

Behind her a frightened cry told of Vanimar's beast of burden doing the same leap as hers. This time she did not turn to make comment - she just smiled again, knowing that her closeness to the dark elf was growing and that either it would all end in joy or heartbreak, such was the way of these things. Perhaps it was boring and/or stereotypical of her to find romance in the time of war, but all legends needed a romance, did they not? It made the story for the bards to sing more attractive. Or perhaps she was only dreaming of what could be. Of what her mother had never allowed herself to have. Of what was so typical, so seemingly apparent in every tale, but so hard to grasp in real life.

By midday they had descended down the sides of the mountains and were in the last stretches of wilderness that occupied much of northern Alerar. Farms and woods were also present, but they were all dead to the world currently, with burnt trees and abandoned fields. Without a thought for fence or wall or boundary the goats and their riders pressed ever onwards, for their journey was a vital role, their purpose determining empires.