The next morning dawned silver and green. Dew clung to the high branches like strings of glass beads, and birdsong threaded through the canopy.
Lorienya breathed in unison with the new day, unaware, or perhaps unwilling to acknowledge, the subtle tremor that had whispered through its heart the night before.
Lindarion hadn't slept. He stood upon one of the outer watch platforms, cloak rippling in the early breeze, eyes following the horizon where the mist began to break. Ashwing sat beside him, tail flicking lazily, a tiny flame dancing at its tip.
"You look like you've been staring at the same spot for hours," the dragon muttered, stretching.
"I have," Lindarion replied. "The earth beneath this forest hides something vast. I can feel it shifting."
Ashwing yawned. "You always say that before something explodes."
"An apt prediction," Lindarion murmured, lips twitching faintly.
