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Saedra slipped a dagger into each of her boots, gingerly tucking them away into specially tailored pockets. She felt warmth reenter her veins, and as it came, the sudden surge of power and anger died away. She suddenly became aware of her surroundings–and her choice of clothing.

–––Among the stones and dirt knelt a oddly clad woman–wrapped in leather and gossamer–bits of her glinting in the rising light. Her age was difficult to pinpoint–her features, bright as they were, were obscured by branches, and her body was shuddering slightly. And then she was gone.

Saedra slipped silently from the graves and into the breaking day. The people of the Piques were awakening. It was time for her to go.

She climbed the single flight of steps to her apartment and reached for her key.

And then she heard the voices–from inside of her apartment.