Margaret was selling some lace at a beach-side market in Readingia, just as any other summer day would have her do. She was working on more doilies to sell, when she feels the energy course in her. Then the Voice passes through her head. Gasping softly, she drops her work. When the message is finished, and the strange feeling fades, Margaret's soul seems to return to her body, to see a crowd gather. At the inquiries, Margaret apologizes and affirms that she is fine, and had just felt a chill. She stays at the market through the day and sells most of her goods, an average day's work. She keeps herself busy to prevent herself from thinking about the surreal event that occurred midday. She knew she was special, different than the mediocre humans she surrounded herself with, tilling around day in and day out, but [i]this[/i]? This was strange, even for her. 
When night fell, she convinces herself that, after half a day of internal conflict, she decides she might as well see what the Gods want. She had tried to think she was special before, and do something, but every time she either almost died, was completely useless, or had to fake a death and change form, or some combination. With a heavy sigh, she readies a pack, hoists it over her shoulder, and shifts into the stable boy next door. Silently asking for forgiveness, she slips into the stables, hides the meager pack in a hay pile, sneaks behind the victim while he's in the tack room, and locks him in. "I'm sorry!" her disguised voice is a perfect echo of the boy's. She picks a roan gelding, grabs the bag, already saddled, and jumps onto the horse, startling it into a gallop. She prefers to travel by night, as the day posed no threat, even to someone sleeping, especially to a burly, well-known street fighter, Margaret grins.