Beatrice moved perpetually north–she had no idea where her home was in relation to Adini, except that a vast expanse of water existed between the two. She figured her only choice was to move in one direction, and hope that someone knew of her people’s customs, and would know the land from which she came. It had been so many years, honestly, she had no idea what her land’s name was, what direction it was in: but she avoided thinking about it too much because if she did, waves of depression crashed over her, anxiety breathed upon her like a hulking dragon, hopelessness grabbed her and shackled her and sold her for a quick buck to cruel slave traders who would take her to work in deep dark mines way under the ground, no light, no friends, just endless unending work, shut up little girl, get back to work, you’re daydreaming again aintcha bitch.
So she couldn’t think about it, she just walked. And eventually she came to a town on a vast expanse of water. Surely someone here would know where she had come from. As Beatrice walked around the town, pressing her questions, she received answers that gave ground to her worst fears. No one knew what she was talking about. No one had heard of House Adini. Soon she was roaming the streets, destitute, and worse, the slave traders of her soul were knocking on the door.
Walking out of town, she couldn’t feel anything. She had been on the move for days, eating nothing but bread and water, drawing energy from the knowledge (the hope, the faith) that she would be able to go home again. With that gone, she had nothing else: the death of everyone she had known for the last six years slapped her in the face, and she crumpled into a beaten heap under a wooden bridge as it began to rain.
She didn’t give two shits if she drowned, or if she was carried out to sea like a piece of worthless flotsam.