The fourth dream, (Talia, p. 20)

She is falling. The snarling forms around her snap, but get no closer or further away. Above, the burning eyes fade in the distance… below… nothing.  Her bow is gone, and in her hand is a rather wicked looking dagger. It is wrong, somehow, and yet she senses a connection. Without thinking, she drives the dagger into the sheer cliff wall. Her falling stops suddenly and as she hangs from the blade, the snarling fades below. Her arm aches and the darkness closes around her.

Her body crashes to the floor. She shuffles quickly to the corner of the room despite the blanket tangled around her shaking body. Her back is against the wall, the dagger extended infront of her, poised and ready to strike. Slowly, her vision clears and in the dim light of a single candle, she sees the room of the inn, empty, save for herself. The bed is bare. A chair knocked over. She lets her arm drop and the dagger clatters on the floor. She sits in the darkness, knees to her chest, gently rocking. A look of resolve forms in the darkness.


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