by Magnoliah
* * *
Magnoliah awoke again from another fitful sleep, her dreams a tangled web of confusion. She looked to where her husband, Quillos, lay. He slept peacefully, and she was relieved that she had not disturbed him. Whatever private conflicts were going on within, her love did not need to be complicated by her troubled dreams.
Her wrist ached as though in memory of her sacrifice. The blood she had given freely in the ritual had left her in a weakened state. Only a few knew of her close brush with death after foolishly trying to use her uncontrollable glamour. She had become good at hiding her pain and her deepest thoughts.
Magnoliah reflected on her dream images, trying to capture them in her mind before they dispersed like the morning sun dissolving a misty fog. The pain of giving birth and sensation of dying mingled in her body, making her physically ill. The young elf slipped silently from her bed to get a breath of dawn's fresh air.
It was very early, the sunrise coloring a beautiful sky. There was a newness in the still air. She felt a calling upon her. Her spirit felt a pull, a pull only ever felt when the Great Willow whispered in her ear.
Something had happened, but she could not discern its nature. She vowed to herself to find out.