The Sentinels how terrible it is, to love something that death can touch

deirdre longed for emaleth. she worked her great magick independently, and though once she had known the presence of more magick she felt its absence keenly. twas not hers own, which was still strong and resplendent, but anothers she recalled fondly. so lost was she in the trees and the wind and the flowers and the creatures that the magick sometimes stole her.

the girl followed a thin trail that she had found of the wolf she sought, her tail waving behind her in high arcs. she still did not know of the others apparent predicament, and so moved with happiness and grace in each step.