Morrwyn awoke with a start.
For a fleeting heartbeat, she hoped it was only the chill of dawn—the cold kiss of mountain mist upon her brow. Deep within she knew better.
Something was wrong.
As the Lantern Keeper, she had long ago learned to recognize the forest's warnings. The woods always spoke before the darkness arrived. Birds fell silent. Wind forgot the leaves. A quiet, unnatural stillness settled over the world, followed by the familiar prickle creeping along her spine and the damp chill that brushed her skin like the whisper of unseen fingers.
Nature was telling her to be alert.
She had made her camp for the night in the mountainside— not deep enough to be considered a cave, but sheltered enough to hide her from what wandered at night. Safer than sleeping under the open sky.
Her forest green cloak wrapped tightly around her against the nights cold. Curled against her chest, Bramble — her ever faithful fox— slept soundly, his russet tail resting over his nose. At Morrwyn's movement, his tail flicked, not an alert, but ever ready....
A fire was not worth the risk. The woods of Ashenvail were not to be taken lightly. To wander in Ashenvail was an invitation to become more than simply lost.