Vaalea laid on her back upon a field of newly born grass, staring at the darkening sky and the emerging stars. Her hand rested on her chest, holding the wooden piece she had found from the bottom of the river a few days prior. She lifted it up against the sky and her eyes trailed the strange runes carved into it’s surface. She then lifted her other hand next to the wooden piece, and her gaze shifted into the cup of her palm. The wound in it appeared sickly and swollen, despite her great efforts to clean it and heal it.
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