The Sentinels hear! come! i call thee forth

She fell to silence and wonder, her dance slowing to a halt as her mismatched eyes gazed upward to the darkening sky. It was perhaps coincidence that her father began his chant as a storm began to gather, but to little Emaleth this was a magick he performed; weaving the clouds with his voice, willing them to congeal just so. Her breath held as she watched, captivated, the declarations she had made now forgotten.