Crossing back into Maldrin was no issue for Alana, despite the scanty soldiers wandering about, doing a pitiful form of keeping watch. It was either she incinerated them with her various flame spells, butchered them where they stood, or—for the few who were lucky—she evaded them entirely. These were the ones she found attractive, and Alana, being who she was, would not want to destroy a pretty face unless she was pressed to.
She soon moved from Fifdone of Combec into Tunish.
Her face still bore its peculiar black ink paintings, her multiple rings hung from her ears, and she wore them confidently, striding with the poise of a lioness. She had come for one thing, and one thing only: Ren.
