Qast awoke with a rasping breath, clawing at her hair. Her eyes narrowed and darted about the room as her hands deftly reached for two of the daggers she kept concealed about her bed. The darkness offered no sound and she could sense no presence in it except that of her sleeping sister, and yet she felt invaded. The faint whispering which had woken her came again, crawling to the fore of her mind and scratching at her defences. As her heart slowed she realised she knew this presence. She put her daggers back in their places then began the process of calming herself and opening her mind. A voice crackled into clarity.
Rena made her way slowly from Faril’s desk and to the back of the library, taking a new route with each trip. By the fourth load she had figured out that if she walked straight from the desk, through the first row of books, took a left and counted four rows then walked down, the trip was significantly shorter. There were no ladders and no students crowding the way. Yet even with this improvement she knew that she’d spend the entire afternoon stacking then organising books. The task would likely run on into tomorrow’s schedule as well.
Haerith was a beautiful continent. It always had been, Svorin thought. He peered from the mouth of the cave past the water and to the grassy shores of Alatra. Though an ancient country in terms of the written histories, Alatra was still new in his eyes. He’d only heard of it several hundred years ago, sometime after the fall of Korin, his birth state. How short the written histories were; so lacking in culture and knowledge. Yet today people all around Saiala considered themselves so much more civilised than their illiterate forebearers. Svorin gave a soft snort at the idea and retreated back into the cave.