The Sentinels Santianna

A flash of red excited her vision long enough to draw her, with sharp and even strides, through the monumental forest; but when she came to where she'd thought she'd seen it, there was not a trace.

Instead there came the drifting of a song — not a tune the girl recognized, and not in any tongue she would know — but it was proof enough that some spirit did inhabit this place. It was enough of a crumb to entice Dianikos to delve deep among the shadows, to pursue whoever sang.

Dianikos was not one to shy away from engagement, and soon she had picked up on enough of the tune to make the holy words of her last rite fit (imperfect, but clean):

O akoúste, óloi eseís oi athánatoi, kateveíte ti chionisméni koryfí. ~ ♫

Giatí edó, sas férnoume ta dóra mas, kai tóra anazitáte tis evlogíes sas. ~ ♪

Óloi chaíre tous theoús, óloi chaíre tous theoús, óloi chaíre tous Athánatous.

Her voice, youthful as it had been in life, held the strength of her convictions; she was certain that it would summon the spirit to her - or the shade, whichever it was that carried the tune within the wood.