Obedient Slumbers That Can Wake And Sleep
The south wind blows northward, whistling in cold air, whipping snow and ice around in thick blinding fury. C'ieth shuffle along the path to Oerba proper, unmourning, whatever duties they held before becoming l'cie long forgot.
There's no flower scent to say this land has been claimed; Fang smells only the C'ieth, bitter like Scarletite, and an approaching storm.
She thinks back to the flowers—Oerba's famous lilies, Vanille's favorite—they saw on the way to Taejin's Tower. She's no words for the wrongness of finding Oerba's flowers on the Steppe but not in Oerba.
What's happened out here while they slept?