The rock that Laurena lay against began to warm gradually as the sun crested the horizon. Dawn. Dawn in the wastes. Dawn in Sachaka. This was a sight not many Kyralians had the pleasure of viewing from Laurena's mountain top perch. In fact, it would probably have disconcerted many Kyralians to know that their pleasure of the dawn was only second hand to that of the Sachakans', considering their relative geographical positions. As that light, red, pink and gold in hue, slowly crept across the dry soil and dust of the lower reaches of the waste, Laurena admired the furrows and runnels that became exposed, their twists and turns that were both revealed and shadowed by the rising sun. They could have been running streams, racing each other to the horizon, or well worn trade paths just itching for the first caravan of Gorin to amble past, loaded with who knew what. But Laurena knew that nothing so alive, so fruitful, often travelled through the wastes. It was a harsh and unforgiving place. To her left and right she could see how the mountain range travelled on into the distance, a series of sharp peaks and flat plateaus, a sentinel row of guards; Kyralians facing off against the Sachakan threat, Sachakans defending themselves against their Kyralian foe.
Yet, Laurena found an odd beauty in the spectacle. Perhaps, she mused, her grasp on history was a little romanticised. She saw honour and glory only where there had been bloodshed and conquest. Wars fought in and for this land turned dust to gold, weeds to garlands, the mountains themselves to fortresses of steel.
Laurena smiled to herself. The Steelbelt Ranges had been quite aptly named.
Regardless, Laurena's love for this land ensured that in her heart she would always treasure Sachaka, and even the wastes, as her home.
She only hoped her sister would remember the same. Would remember where her home truly lay. Today, Nalia travelled through those very mountains Laurena had been admiring. South towards Kyralia. Imardin. The Magicians' Guild.