𝐎, 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 ⎥ "He wants a fight with
a God? I'll give him one."
﹙ from stardust we came, to stardust we return ﹚
Prisoner of Azkaban - Deathly Hollows
...
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 going down: The pure, colorless vastness of the sky stretched over her, indifferent to her and her suffering. Elara sat down in the tent entrance and took a deep breath of clean air. Simply to be alive to watch the sun set over the sparkling snowy hillside seemed to have been the greatest treasure on earth.
She looked out over a valley blanketed in snow, distant church bells chiming through the glittering silence. Without realizing it, she was digging her fingers into her arms as if she were trying to resist physical pain.
She had spilled her own blood more times than she could count; this journey had already given her scars to her forearm to join those on her hand and across her eye. Elara always liked scars. Countless times she had called them 'badass' and would always proudly tell a story behind one, no matter how embarrassing.
Both Harry and Hermione, who had refused to sleep more than thirty minutes while Elara was unconscious, had retired after Elara threatened to burn the tent down if they don't get more than ten hours of sleep soon.
After a few more hours of sitting in the hearth, Elara was only slightly cold. Her wound was healed over, and although still tender, worked like new. She wanted to test out her abilities again to see if they were still working, but Harry and Hermione both vehemently protested. To appease them, she agreed.
