Homecoming

There was a storm brewing in Gilneas. The grey skies heralded a tempest, one that would see the sensible take shelter. Unfortunately, Elizaberta had never found much use for sense.
The lone rider battling against the bitter cold, as she traversed the Northern Headlands. The thunder of hoofbeats and ardent snorting could almost distract her from deeper thought but not even the sting of ceaseless rainfall could clear her mind entirely. A longing remained in her heart - a yearning that no amount of galloping could resolve.

“Ya won’t find it here, Bertie. Just like the tides are always changin’ - Gilneas ain’t the same as it was and neither are you.”

Rhydian’s words still rang fresh in her mind. Was he right? What was she fighting for, if not for the hope that one day Gilneas would be her home again?
She could never admit that he was right - especially not to his face - but those words had lingered with her for long enough that she was beginning to believe them.
It wasn’t lost on her that, despite being in her homeland, she felt alone without Lynerya. Her thoughts had been with the druid since she had arrived in Gilneas. At first, she’d felt guilty that she was unable to focus on helping her people but now things were clearer.

Rhydian was right.

Despite it all, the Dirge's victory in Gilneas had given Eliza a sense of renewed hope: something she hadn't felt in a long while. Perhaps, she reasoned, a part of her soul would remain upon this moorland, even if her heart belonged somewhere else. With someone else. Perhaps, that was enough. After all, she had a promise to keep - live with no regrets.

Eliza would rejoin the Dirge of Teldrassil shortly, yet for now she kept galloping. She would continue into the storm, until the horse beneath her stopped. Freedom would be hers, if only for the night. Then she would find her way home.