On the eve of her own execution, Ridahne Torzinei had slipped into an uncomfortably real dream that had then turned...different. What had begun as slightly changed but very believable images of past reality suddenly became something new, something she hadn’t seen before. 

[I]She saw the tree. The leaves fell unseasonably early and were a dark brown color, not the usual painted reds and golds of autumn. The bark was crumbling and the wispy branches in its great heights were wilted and dropping. She felt the pain of it even as she saw it, and a darkness creeping closer like the shadow of a hungry beast towards a dying campfire. 

“No!” She’d cried out, both in dream and in reality. 

The tree was dying. Everyone knew that. Her people could feel it. But she had never seen it except in tapestries or grand paintings, except then. And she was convinced she was seeing it as it was, not as she imagined it. Or, she thought, as it might become—she didn’t actually know how far the decay of the dying tree had spread. 

She heard the clash of steel and the wet squelching sound she knew came with killing. She heard shouts, pounding hooves, bells…

And then a voice.

It was indistinct—neither male nor female, young nor old, loud nor quiet. It just was. And deep within Ridahne’s bones she could hear—or feel?—the words spoken to her so clearly:

“You will come upon her in the wild. She has The Seed. And she will need your help. Redeem yourself, Child of the Night Sky, and save the land you love.”  [/I]

She jolted awake and was about to call for a guard, but one was already there. Ajoran. His hands were curled around the bars and his mouth hung open slightly, brows knitted in concern. She didn’t have to tell him she’d had a vision, because he knew her well and knew her urgent yet bewildered expression. She’d never had a vision before and they weren’t even common among the Azurei tribe—the Children of the Night Sky. The Eluri, the elven tribe to Azurei’s east also known as The Children of the Wind, did more of that sort of thing, and the Children of the Dawn Sky—the Orosi—never did at all. But still, visions amongst the Azurei were not unheard of.

“I need to speak with the Sota-Sol immediately.” 
“Ridahne…” Ajoran said softly. “She won’t see you…she wants you dead. A vision won’t change that…” 
Her eyes were hard, unmoving, set with the kind of unbreaking, determined fire that made Ajoran love her in the first place. “This one will. Tell her it’s about The Great Tree.” 



That was four months ago. The Sota-Sol was interested in her vision, and in a shocking turn of events, Ridahne was…kind of pardoned. Sort of. She was no less guilty of her transgressions and the fresh tattoo added to the pattern on her face was proof of that. But she’d been given a chance to redeem herself and prove herself worthy to her Sol, and was sent on a highly secret mission to find the bearer of the Seed. Except at the time, there was no Seed. The Gardener was male—the same one that had been for many years—and there had never been any talk, speculation, whisper, rumor, or thought of a seed, much less a bearer. And with that kind of vague hopelessness Ridahne set out on a long, directionless trek through the other elven tribes and their lands. She spent some time in the Dust Sea of North Azurei, figuring that was a horrible wilderness to be caught in and she did know how to navigate it. But nothing. So she wandered north to the human lands feeling increasingly stupid as each day passed without news or sign. 

But then her efforts proved worthwhile when she began to hear consistent rumors of a new Gardener and a Seed. Yet no one seemed to know exactly where to find her, so Ridahne roamed the wilds for three months, checking taverns regularly for news. And as time slipped away without any further sign or hope, the bitterness crept over her again. She hadn’t been executed…but now she was exiled. Doomed to spend her life wandering until she and the tree both withered away into nothing. 

At least, that’s how she felt that afternoon as she plodded dutifully along the thick, overgrown forest path that was dark under the shadow of a great cliff to her left. Her hunting cat, Mitaja, had been sleuthing around for interesting morsels and every so often, Ridahne would see the massive feline peer back at her through ferns and brush.

—

The large beige and black cat padded up to where the human was dangling and struggling up above and sat beneath her, patiently flicking her black-ringed tail. The cat yawned, showing very large, powerful teeth and a rough curling tongue and her gold-green eyes studied the human intently. And then she gave a very loud yowl, and repeated the noise a few times as if calling more of her kindred to the scene of a future meal. Except the animal that answered her call was not another cat, it was a horse. Seated atop the creamy tan horse with black socks, mane and tail, was a tall, slim woman with darker russet skin that suggested she came from the south. She had wavy dark hair that reached her collarbone and a multitude of tattoos of varying styles, the most notable and unique of which were the many that formed a pattern on her face; black, blue, and even some white. A silver ring was in her nose and many more in her pointed ears. She carried a short sword that was obviously visible and sheathed in a leather scabbard across her back and, unseen under her indigo shirt, were two knives strapped to her lower back.  But the sword was not the thing about her appearance that made her seem intimidating, nor was it her long scarred fingers or her confident air. It was her eyes. Amber colored like fresh honey, they stood out against her sun darkened skin and exuded a piercing quality. Those eyes looked up at the human with an amused glimmer. 

“What do we have here…?” If her appearance didn’t give away that he was elvish, her southern accent did. Ridahne sighed. Too often she ran into poorly prepared vagabonds who decided tramping the wilderness with no idea of what they were doing was a good idea. She saw no gear to speak of and they were too far from the nearest town for this human to be a wandering local. She shook her head slowly. “Idiot boy. Fell from the cliff, didn’t you?” The giant cat reared up and put her paws on the trunk of the tree, attempting to get close enough to sniff. Ridahne dismounted and stood beside the cat, stroking her silky short fur.  “Don’t you have a knife? Blessed Tree, did you honestly come all the way out here without any supplies?”