In a small room in the ancient fortress of the Vale of Mists, a mother and child lay calmly on a single bed while an ordinary-looking woman with striking amethyst eyes sat nearby, patiently knitting the beginnings of a small blanket.
Tonnis Pyre, at just ten years of age, already bore a strong resemblance to his father with sandy hair cut short in the style of knights and soldiers and classic, handsome features in the line of his nose and the set of his jaw. The baby fat had yet to entirely leave his cheeks, but there were also traces of his mother's high cheekbones and arched brows that left observers wondering if he would grow up to be pretty rather than handsome.
