The Sunspire the world forgetting, by the world forgot

The stars always drew her upwards. Olive could not forsake her desire to climb for long, despite her knowledge of her delicate state — and under the guise of late hours, she pulled herself towards the heavens and sought to say her sidereal prayers, personally, to each and every aurora and illumination that dusted the sky. She had missed them so. 

It became apparent during her accent that she was not the be alone that night. The druid did not see the others as much as she felt them, and for a moment, Olive questioned whether these beings had a physical form or if they were simply smatterings of energy across the canvas of the universe. She had a tongue with which she spoke to ghosts and apparitions, after all, so it would not have been the first time. These things were not strange to the sylph.

But, eidolons they were not! They were very real and tangible: three shewolves, alike in the hue of their pelage but not in age, summoned by the gods to serve some karmic purpose. The misted druid strode forward, not wishing to startle either Forrest or the girl who teetered upon the precipice — she recognized that dangerous line, for she too had once danced upon it —  and her tongue flicked out to taste the air. Sadness. Contrasting the weighty-ness of her heart, Olive’s eau-de-nil gaze softly bounced from Forrest to the girl she knew as Seabreeze, allowing Forrest to work her craft. The empath figured that, when it was the right time to contribute, she would just know. The balance, for now, was so finespun and fracturable.