[Yshania]

Then she opened her eyes, and the sound of birdsong in the glade brought an immediate calm, adding to the confusing loss of waking from a nightmare with questions unanswered, the journey unfinished…yet again, this time, the Lady with Stars In Her Eyes had not graced this dream. The Lady whose soft words had soothed her rising consciousness each time she had climbed from this horror, became a memory of that moment…absent, and in itself a threat. The druid knew the Lady, something deep within her heart reminded her of this, yet that moment – as this – she woke alone in a glade, only that glade was the garden of the keep, then still breathing the dying taint of the Shadowmasters seething hatred, once the beloved heart of the Dark Flames.

Yshania climbed stiffly to her feet, noticing her companion, Githra, stir from his feline slumber to join her by the water. She gazed the length of the pale river as she filled her bottle, Githra crouching to lap beside where she knelt. As she clipped the full pouch to her belt, Githra leaned heavily against her, almost toppling her over. He sensed her unease, and she felt comforted by his presence. Beyond the bend in the river was where she was heading, unsure as to what had called her from her assumed normal existence as a bar wench in the Travellers Rest, uneasy as to this new purpose in her stride. She spent a fond moment recollecting her newly found friends at the inn, her love of the simplicity of dealing with drunks and wayward Halfling egos…an easy history to recount, one she felt certain would remain pretty much untouched until her return. Should she return.

“Come, Githra!” She shouldered her pack and climbed the banking to the crude pathway above, her chestnut mare, Pridwen grazed patiently awaiting her return.