The Beach Near Lisen's Tower
She cannot sleep.
Of late she has been uneasy, inside her sanctuary and out of it. Given the situation, given the dangers and what’s at stake, Dana knows, only a fool could be at ease about anything. But there is a difference in not being at ease, and in being ill at ease. And she cannot remember a time she was ill at ease inside her own sanctuary, not in all the time she has worn the white robes of the High Priestess.
When she grew tired of lying awake and staring at nothing in particular, she rose and came here, to the beach, to stare at the sea.
Jaelle is unmistakably, undeniably one of the most powerful mortal women in Fionavar. She would say she was the most powerful, and true or not, it would take a great fool or a brave man (or Diarmuid) to contradict her. And yet, sitting her, she can see the limits of that power, things she cannot control or influence. Dana holds no sway at sea, nor does her Priestess. All her power and influence end there at the edge of the surf, as dazzlingly white in the moonlight as the robes she wears to mark that power and influence.
It is good, she thinks, to know her limits, if not to admit them aloud, especially now. But she is also afraid, staring out at that sea, that too much will be asked of her. In the end, reluctantly or not, there is very little she would not do or give for this fight, but there is great deal she could not do or give, no matter how much she wanted to.
Of late she has been uneasy, inside her sanctuary and out of it. Given the situation, given the dangers and what’s at stake, Dana knows, only a fool could be at ease about anything. But there is a difference in not being at ease, and in being ill at ease. And she cannot remember a time she was ill at ease inside her own sanctuary, not in all the time she has worn the white robes of the High Priestess.
When she grew tired of lying awake and staring at nothing in particular, she rose and came here, to the beach, to stare at the sea.
Jaelle is unmistakably, undeniably one of the most powerful mortal women in Fionavar. She would say she was the most powerful, and true or not, it would take a great fool or a brave man (or Diarmuid) to contradict her. And yet, sitting her, she can see the limits of that power, things she cannot control or influence. Dana holds no sway at sea, nor does her Priestess. All her power and influence end there at the edge of the surf, as dazzlingly white in the moonlight as the robes she wears to mark that power and influence.
It is good, she thinks, to know her limits, if not to admit them aloud, especially now. But she is also afraid, staring out at that sea, that too much will be asked of her. In the end, reluctantly or not, there is very little she would not do or give for this fight, but there is great deal she could not do or give, no matter how much she wanted to.