Alata gathered up his scrolls. They were light, but awkward to move around. If only he had a page, or a manservant, to help him. But no. Few had such luxuries now. For his entire life, 61 long years, the world had revolved around the War. The conflict with the Dracans. Those shape-shifting reptilian people in the East of the continent. Those that breathed fire.

Shrugging off the thoughts, he resigned his mind to quiet, inward contemplation. It was not meditation as such, but it helped focus his thoughts and clear his head. For this, he could snatch minutes of peace before attending a Council meeting, or an announcement, or some young cub whining at him for his knowledge. 

It was in this state of mind that he noticed a fellow advisor storming past. Alata pondered this, passing the thought hither and thither through his mental hands. It dawned on him, somewhere deep in his consciousness, that this was an odd occurrence - especially as he had been approaching from the direction of Princess Lana's chambers.

Sighing, he shook himself fully awake. There was clearly something amiss going on - the Princess was well known for he calm, peaceful nature. Thrusting his scrolls into an alcove, he shifted into his gryphon form and flitted down the hallway, clawed feet barely touching the ground. His silvery tail swung back and forth, and his wings glinted white in the light of the sun. Within a minute, he was at Lana's door.

Returning to human form, he raised his fist and knocked gently on the door, then stepped back and folded his hands against his silver robe respectfully. What was wrong with the Princess?