Late autumn rains settled over the Vale of Mists, filling the air with the soft pattering sound of raindrops falling on broad leaves and the sound of water spilling from gutters into catchment pools below.
In the garden where Ashlynn once enjoyed her first, tentative evenings with Nyrielle, the Mother of Trees sat under a gazebo that felt almost as ancient as the rest of the fortress. In the spring, the trumpet vines climbing the gazebo's weathered posts would bloom with a dazzling array of colors and hummingbirds would dance through the air as they feasted on the flowers' sweet nectar.
Now, however, the entire garden felt like it had gone to sleep for the winter, and only the gazebo itself seemed to hold any signs of life. A metal firepit stood in the center of the gazebo, filled with cedar logs that crackled merrily while brilliant yellow and orange flames danced to keep away the damp chill in the air.
