Blackfeather Woods they call me

It seemed settled, then. He'd teach her what he knew. Something small and solid fell into place in her brain: she was to be a priestess. She did not yet know the amount of resistance her mother would give to the idea, nor the struggles of learning to speak to the gods--but it was something, at least. Something to do.

Maegi nodded at his correction; she was still young enough to handle criticism gracefully, not yet in the bratty phase that would mark her adolescence. "For her, then," she murmured, and listened as he gave her the whole prayer. She tried desperately to remember it, mouthing the words, hoping she got the order of them correct. Perhaps he'd say it again.

"Oh, Mephala," she began, her voice small in the cave. It grew louder, though, as she gained courage and went on. "Mighty weaver of our destiny, receive our prayer." Now to the part she didn't know so well. "Have mercy on us. . .speak to us in our dreams. For we are your un--" Unwilling? Unknowing? "--Worthy," Maegi finally gasped out, feeling relieved. "Unworthy servants."

She felt slightly overwhelmed as he informed her there were many prayers. How was she to learn them all? Even that small bit of verse had been tricky to get down. And creating her own, herself? It seemed a fantasy--a beautiful, glowing fantasy, but one nonetheless.