“Mother.” Wren greeted respectfully, dipping her head deeply, not exactly a Cambrian greeting but she was presently in Rome. Her gaze, green and sharp, flickered over the chains at Isolde’s wrists.

She’d come to the camp in a quiet manner, requesting an audience with Isolde. The basis for her visit was to look in one someone very important to her. It was known that she was the leader of the Valkyrie, and perhaps that was the reason she has been permitted entry. Her mace had been taken a s a guard escorted her to Isolde’s tent, the man now beside her meeting her there—though she had yet to meet him. She didn’t care to. Wren only had eyes for Isolde.

Isolde rose to her feet quickly, resisting the urge to run forward. To embrace the woman she’d known since she’d first started to hold a sword. Isolde stared at her, quiet, light eyes wide, stunned as a rabbit caught in a snare. Cam’s voice broke the spell. She stiffened, dipping in a slight curtsy as an exchange of Wren’s greeting.

“It’s been too long, my child,” Isolde chanced the term of endearment, eyes running over Wren as if checking to make sure she was real. It was then that Isolde’s demeanor would switch. She’d smile as a Nevermerean noblewoman might, dipping her hea to Cam next.

“I thank you, Lord Petyr, as always you are too kind,” Isolde tucked her hair behind her ears with trembling fingers as she fixed her gaze again on Wren. “I am glad you are able to meet him, Wren, he has been ever so attentive. A helpful guide during my time in Nevermere.” As her hands dropped from her ears, she shifted the rest of her hair so that her fingertips brushed the collar around her neck.

The sight of Isolde in chains and with that collar on her neck was enough to send Wren into a frenzy. She knew she could kill the man behind her with a single blow of her fist, crushing his skull so that his brains spilled to the floor. After him, she would tear the shackles from the woman before her and then dislodge the centerpole from the tent and use it to impale any that tried to stand in her way. They did not understand just who they had allowed into their camp…

But of course, she did not. She let Isolde’s steady stare serve as an anchor. She would act only when told. Wren was the great arrow of Coheed, to be loosed when the archer deemed.

Wren glanced towards Cam at Isolde’s words, intending to muster an appreciative smile, but only attaining a look that was neutral enough while hinting at her mild disgust. It only lasted a flash before her attention was back on Isolde.

“I am glad to see you are well.” Tender words for the hardened warrior, her lips imparting a sweet smile. A smile no man had ever seen. “I have missed your company. Missed your wisdom.”

As Cam turned to look to the door outside, Isolde’s eyes went to him, then back to Wren, as if to reinforce what the warrior already knew. They could not speak freely. As Isolde fixed once again on Wren, her eyes betrayed panic. Desperation. They were a silent plea accompanied by a smile. Wren knew Isolde better than anyone in Terra Nova. Surely she could see Isolde’s captivity for what was: a prison made of more than collars and shackles.

Isolde laughed a little, but the sound was not like the one Wren would remember. It was a creation of Nevermere without the right of authenticity that someone who knew differently could recognize.

“My wisdom…” Isolde said, shaking her head with a playful smile, “I do not know what wisdom I have to give. I’ve learned so much, and been taught to question my assumptions by those wiser than I.” She tipped her head toward Cam; a small presentational bone thrown his way. But Isolde’s eyes remained wide as they poured into Wren.

“Still much remains a great mystery. But soon I am sure my questions will be answered.” The Great Mystery: the unmistakable words known to those who practiced the old ways. It was how the All Mother brought the world back into balance. A violent process, one of chaos, but ultimately one that brought the world back into order.

Wren’s countenance became disheartened as she registered the look in Isolde’s eyes and heard her words. She needed more than this. Wren had been sitting on her hands for almost a year now, waiting for direction, waiting for leadership…and Isolde was giving her nothing. She feared pushing, feared what the man might understand, but more than that she feared being left alone with nothing to hold to.

“When will you return to us?” Wren resisted the urge to turn towards Cam. “The women need guidance.”

Isolde’s gut twisted with bitter desperation. The man’s presence was another kind of collar—one that had taken her tongue, whereas the other had taken her strength. She kept her focus on Wren, though she was acutely aware of Cam: Beldam had taught her that much.

Look to the heavens, child.

“No, I should think you know better where to look for guidance,” Isolde said with a soft smile, hoping that Wren would remember, “As for my return…here I am. Here you are. Have I not returned?” Isolde tucked a strand of Wren's hair behind her ear.

“How strange it is,” Isolde reached out to hold Wren’s hand. With Wren’s palm facing down, she would casually draw a circle with a cross inside, “To have walls made of canvas when I have been living in Nevermere’s fine walls of stone. There are magnificent, you should see them. Not even the wind finds its way through," Isolde laughed. "Given the chill, I am grateful that our time on the road is short. On to Coheed next, and then?”

Wren would know the cross and circle. Or at least, Isolde hoped.