Priestess of the White

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Auraya stepped over a fallen log, taking care that no crinkle of crushed leaves or snapping of twigs betrayed her presence. A tug at her throat warned her to look back. The hem of her tawl had caught on a branch. She eased it free and carefully chose her next step.

Her quarry moved and she froze.

He can’t have heard me, she told herself. I haven’t made a sound.

She held her breath as the man rose and looked up into the mossy branches of an old garpa tree. His Dreamweaver vest was dappled with leafy shadows. After a moment he crouched and resumed his examination of the underbrush.

Auraya took three careful steps closer.

“You’re early today, Auraya.”

Letting out a sigh of exasperation, Auraya stomped to his side. One day I’m going to surprise him, she vowed. “Mother took a strong dose last night. She’ll sleep late.”

Leiard picked up a piece of bark, then took a short knife from a vest pocket, slid the point into a crack and twisted it to reveal tiny red seeds inside.

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