Sword

Reiven read the note for a second or third time which was telling her to turn in the sword to Lord Veryacano.

“What is that?” Volina asked as she walked in to the room.

“It’s nothing…” Reiven gave her a slight smile then asked after a brief pause “Everything ready?”

Volina nodded slowly extending a vial to her.

Teremonth was sleeping quietly next to her. Reiven watched him breathing steadily yet she couldn’t dare to fall asleep. It was her watch to wait for him, to hold his hand, to whisper gentle words in his ear for chasing off his nightmares. Two nights he told her, for two nights he couldn’t sleep. His face was so pale and eyes looked restless he didn’t need to say a word that Reiven didn’t know.

Inside of me I can feel only cold… Not because of the freezing waters flowing around my legs of the stream but the shadows casted around me…

I can feel the burning on my wrist once where the mark was. It’s not burning with fire but ice this time…

I can hear the call of long lost souls more than I hear living…

“I have found you…”

The leather grip is wearing away under my hand. I shift my grip slightly, making a note to see about getting the wrap replaced before we leave. I stand motionless for a moment, closing my eyes and recalling darkness and stone, shouts, and learned responses. Then I begin to move.

A Teenaged Daerundros was walking through the forest, sword in hand. She was running, flying, to some unknown spot. The birds chirped, but somehow it was very quiet... too quiet.