Gravina

Gravina, Mistress of Souls (she had always liked that title, once found it magnificent, now maybe a bit depressing), is tired. Each night she flies the land collecting the souls of departed dragons, and carries them to their final destination in the beyond. Tonight she collected 13. Too many. The number troubles her. She doesn't like the feeling of foreboding welling within her. She shivers in the cold, ever-midnight air of the beyond.
Her work for the night over, she heads toward home - she thinks of Springtide and their children - each of them so full of joy, of optimism and laughter. It comes so naturally to them.
She loves the home they've built. She doesn't care for their schedule. Springtide's work takes place during the morning and afternoon, hers in the evening. But they have adapted, and they love each others company while they have it.
She reaches the door of their lair and carefully removes her Cowl of Calling, hanging it on a peg outside. She runs her talons over her head, smoothing back her feathers, and forces a smile as she enters. She sees the children, rolling around on the floor, biting each other's ears, laughing and full of life. Her life. Springtide's life.
"MOMMA!" They scream, and hurtle toward her, nearly knocking her over, climbing on her, clinging to her. She laughs as they clamber over her. She looks over at Springtide, who is shaking his head and smiling. His smile warms her.
She smiles back, and this time it is not at all forced. She is home, and she is happy. They have returned her to the land of the living.