A figure stood still, cloaked in a heavy, dark grey robe. The candle in front of it cast dull orange light onto the stone walls and old, wooden support beams that held up the room. Namanae sat, chin on fist, in a rugged chair next to the table on which the candle burned. The corners of a dusty historical map, the only visible portions of which Ulterzan could see, curled upward from the table on which it rested. Both seemed affixed on the document’s details. A smooth, pearl-white finger extended from the robe’s long, flowing sleeves and glided to the edge of the map. As Ulterzan approached the two, the soothing voice of the hooded figure identified the area, “Fersha Dell… The forest through which one would pass into Graelynisse territory.” It was then the cloaked woman turned to the Son of Asceve. Pin-straight, white hair poured from the opening of the hood, framing the youthful face of Simianthil, The Historian of the Graelynisse. Her eyes widened and a smile appeared on her face. “Ulterzan. It is good to see you. My feelings tell me that, only yesterday, Asceve was giving birth to you.”

Deceptively youthful, Ulterzan thought. She’s one of the ageless ones. “Many Aunnei have passed since then, Myterrah.” He called her what all Graes call the Mothers of Lyenthil’s Children. “What do we have here?”

The Historian from the Family of Keeping looked at the map and pointed back at Fersha Dell’s location. “This route is the most effective way into Graelynisse territory from the Neutral Lands. With the Wisewood destroyed, an army could gain access to Nyahna relatively easily.”

“Do you suppose that was Toltanthis’ intent? To welcome an army traveling from the other side of this ridge?” Ulterzan pointed at the dense mountain range that protected Nyahna and the eastern borders of the territory.

“It is wise, at least, to consider that intent. Why stage a series of dummy attacks outside of Crell when the best warriors, as well as the leadership, of the enemy are sent to the Wisewood? No attacks have been reported from the cities in the north nor the northwest.” Simianthil paused thoughtfully when she noticed Ulterzan drop his gaze. “As a general, you must always consider that the plans of the enemy have not been fully considered until they have been exhausted at the smallest and largest levels of being.”

“Thank you, Myterra.” The Son of Asceve sighed and drew in a quick breath of recognition. “As far as we know, the Inflicted are only posted in Cet and Cetmana. To date, there have been no signs of any race setting up posts in the Neutral Territory. Spies leave and go back to Nyhana twice a day to observe the surrounding area. Jente is in charge of that.”

The Historian nodded. “That is the level at which I want you to begin your own investigation. Find out the facts and challenge them. We never know everything. I know. I’ve been around for what most living beings consider as Forever.”

“I will.” Ulterzan bowed his head in reverence. “Myterra, what is the level of damage that the Wisewood suffered? What’s become of the people living there?”

Simianthil gestured her head at Namanae, who answered promptly. “The city was effectively brought to its knees over two days. Both warriors and civilians suffered great losses. As I departed, the Inflicted were going through homes and ‘recruiting’ any Grae they found. I can only hope that those who made it to the Mynei Stronghold aren’t found as well.” Namanae lowered her head and began sobbing to herself.

Though toughened by battle, Ulterzan’s heart began unraveling painfully. Namanae and her citizens represented the very people he was charged to protect. Embers of rage began to glow deep within his spirit. Fanning them to flame was Namanae’s steadily falling tears. His fists tightened uncontrollably. “What chance do we have to successfully mount an attack against the forces that have occupied the Wisewood?” He looked to Simianthil for his answer.

Before the Historian opened her mouth to respond, Namanae interjected. “I had never thought that the Inflicted could grow to such numbers. There was one soldier for every citizen and warrior in the city…”

Simianthil continued as the Wisewood’s representative choked on her own words. “I answered Namanae’s call almost two days ago. By then, they had control over the city for nearly a day. By the time that Nyahna responds, the Poison Elves will have doubled their numbers.” She paused to look at the map. “It is difficult to determine the best response…” Then she looked into the space in front of her, quickly calling to mind what was just recognized. Eyes full of power, she looked at Ulterzan. “The Dryads…”

The Son of Asceve suddenly shared her sense of hope, looking at her and slowly nodding in agreement. “I do not think that the Inflicted know of them… Employing their help may present an element of surprise.”

Even Namanae seemed to become rigid with anticipation. Yes, Ulterzan noticed the fires of vengeance ignite in the Representative’s eyes.

“Consider it done.” The hulking Graelynisse pulled at the bottom of his scaled tunic and stuck his chest out with empowerment.

“As you attempt to negotiate with the Wisewood Natives, take Namanae with you. She knows the area almost as well as they do. You will also be more enabled to protect those who remain inside the city with her by your side. As for my whereabouts, I will return to Nyahna and inform my brothers and sisters what has become of the two cities.”

“Understood, Myterra.” Ulterzan’s response was short, but he knew that Simianthil had considered all the actions involved with her request of him. Being hundreds of Aunnei older, the Historian would be hard to surprise. In fact, he trusted her much more than his army’s strategic advisor; and that was because of no fault of his officer. Age and personal experience simply prevailed. Especially when it was held under the constant scrutiny of someone as deliberate as Simianthil.

Being the royal offspring of Asceve, The Shorelight, he had the pleasure of listening to stories about Na’Simi, as his mother called her. Being just one generation older than this sister in particular, Asceve had a distinct kinship with the Keeping Sister. The result was admiration and an endless quantity of tales. One in particular crossed Ulterzan’s mind at that moment.

“Simianthil ‘the Historian’ from the Family of Keeping was always devout to her family’s duties; though she found her aggressive adventuring of the Myne outside the city of Nyahna to be near the center of her being. In the earlier years of her life, shortly following her coming of age, she sought her independence in the hours that she was not recording historical events or updating the lineage of all the other families. Spending this time with her in the Myne and the Wisewood, I could see Na’Simi darting between the trees and enjoying the thrill of the hunt. Though she never killed her prey, she found pride in the chase. Despite her nature, the game became a troublesome necessity four Aunnei after she came of age.

“It was the last Aunnei that Yoreth appeared that Simianthil was recognized as one of the best hunters amongst the Grae, even when considering members of the families whose prime purpose was to gather food. The dying season came early that Aunnei and the Historian was enlisted into the ranks of those that hunted for meat and was forced to put her documentation aside for nearly two and a half seasons. The Graelynisse were desperate for a food source and resorted to hunting the Magon that primarily resided on the island north of Mynereth. Despite orders, Simianthil refused to kill the intelligent and affectionate Magon with whom her race had coexisted since even before her birth; her affinity for them was nearly as potent as her love for her own people.

“Na’Simi’s recourse was the Dulltooth Auer and Tyronsques Cattle. These felt to her like more appropriate venery, being either destroyers of the bark of the forests or aggressive predators that felled even adventuring Grae. While the Auer were easy to stalk, they were very hard to kill because of the bone plate armor that covered every exposed portion of their bodies. It took excellent skill and speed to slay the Auer, and Simianthil possessed both. After studying the behavior of the animal, she concluded that the easiest way to kill them was to catch the Auer unaware and flip it onto its side before making a quick strike to its throat. For anyone who hasn’t seen an Auer, it sounded like an easy task; yet this function was anything but effortless. The full weight of an adult Grae would be required to tip over the reptilian beast, and that was only with the right timing. Son, this particular reptile has a sturdy sail composed of segmented bone that extends all the way down to the tip of its tail. My young sister calculated that, by sprinting at the beast from the side and hurling herself into an airborne kick at the sail, she could topple it onto its side, rendering it immobile for a short time. She thought that perhaps this created enough time to strike the throat of the reptile with the pick-end of her hunting mace.

“The preying on the Magon had not become too dire before Simianthil brought an Auer carapace to the hunting party and convinced them that more meat and tools could be harvested from the reptilian monstrosity. Fine dishes came from that Aunnei’s otherwise devastating Dying Season and the Grae reputation with the Magon was still in tact, though now with stipulations.”

Despite all the time that passed, Simianthil was still one of the most revered Graes in Nyahna. As Ulterzan jogged back to the location of his army, he gave a quick nod to the Historian on whom he focused. ‘She’s absolutely impeccable… and brilliant,’ he thought to himself.

Once arriving at the makeshift camp his soldiers set up for themselves, Ulterzan quickly located Sahzenthis and the military strategist to further discuss the plan made in concert with Simianthil. Even his trusted commander was a little surprised by the prospect of enlisting the help of the Wisewood dryads, though he agreed that the Poison Elves would never see it coming. Once the small group agreed that all the aspects of the plan were considered, they assembled the officers and gave them the new instructions; the first being to go into Crell to get supplies and a good meal. The silent march to the Wisewood would commence at daybreak.

Crell was a city that, while being under the control of the Graelynisse, was inhabited by many different people. It was considered a neutral territory and was often the meeting place for the mercenary kind. In Crell, there were no real alliances, but little crime worthy of the Graelynisse Guard. The custom of this city was understood: An attack upon anyone in this city would render the antagonist a betrayer against all others within. That soul would most likely be quietly extinguished under the black veil of that very night, disappearing from question and concern forever.

Walking purposefully through the noisy, industrious, cobblestone-lined streets, Ulterzan noted members of other races which would not be seen in any other city outside of their own. Old, post-military Nymphs stood intoxicated in front of public houses. Individual Fah’Voy Ra from random tribes conversed freely with other Crellians. Some Skal’ah, possibly exiles or willing rogues, could be seen at merchant booths and dining houses. Perhaps the most shocking sight, at least for Ulterzan, was the occasional Tyrod lumbering about the city. That race was all but extinct, yet one or two could still be seen in Crell. If someone were to mind their own business and do their best to blend in, they could come here to see most, if not all the races in the world on display. Yet, as the Royal General of the Graelynisse gathered supplies from various shops, hardly any conversation continued in his presence. Skal’ah and Fah both would shy away from the hulking Grae. That did little to make Ulterzan feel any welcome in this city, yet these reactions were seemingly necessary components to the Son of Asceve’s status.

***

The Dictorium now bustled with activity as the final member of this council was being awaited: Ardoren. Shei took inventory of the room as they chatted amongst themselves.

There were fifteen Nymphs total. From Shei’s position at the head of the table, The Diplomat recognized each of them mentally by name. The first was Amanter, the old Nymph that stood as the Diplomat between Nymph and Graelynisse. Secondly, there was Skethiva, the Nymph in charge of military strategy. Ah, The Lord of the Guard was next. He was looking at her as solidly as he always did, with his broad, chiseled jaw and his wide, flat nose. Shei averted her gaze to the two sitting next to him, Hak’voride and Dolthova: those in charge of watching the land outside of the cities. Sakirota, Devoss, Aledorj and Jenae were commanders in the Nymph Army. Beschorner and Tresa were High Nymph spies. This was actually the second time that Shei had been in the same room as these two, that she knew of. Derocher and Ra’Toh were subcommanders in charge of the public guard. Adela was the Queen of the Nymphs and Personal Adviser to the King. Shei then counted herself. Qfove stood near the guards at the massive door to the Dictorium, as that seemed to be her appropriate place.

The Diplomat was considering the time this would take when a pounding was heard. The door creaked open and the guards were replaced with four from the Royal Guard. Qfove was told to take a position away from the entrance. Once the Diplomat’s personal guardian took position behind her own chair, one of the Royal Guards waved Ardoren into the room. He took a seat at the table, exactly opposite Shei’s position. He clasped his hands and placed them on the table. The great hall was now at a complete hush.

Shei stood. “Thank you all for joining me here today. I am aware that this meeting was unexpected and may be an inconvenience to your personal schedules, so I will attempt to make this as brief as possible.

“Three days ago, I traveled to Annayl, the main spire of the Fah’Voy Ra, at their request. Once I arrived, my services as Diplomat to the Nymphs were employed… to aid in an atypical tribal war. Furthermore, I was also asked to represent the King of the Fah’Voy Ra as their warriors assembled a camp to protect the vulnerable parts of Annayl’s defenses. That night, the antagonist tribe struck. As the situation would have it, I was a key member in the defeat of this wave of enemies… making me vital to the strategy of tightening the defenses of Upper Sefspar. I have since done all that I could to fulfill the roles assigned to me by the Fah’Voy Ra at Annayl, but not to my satisfaction. This is the first reason I’m here: To request a single legion of Nymph warriors to go back to Annayl until the threat has been addressed.

“The second reason was spawned from this event, which has the simple gesture on the part of the Nymphs to send aide to my charges simply not enough. I have discovered that the Dragons may possibly have a part in the recent attacks on our allies.”

At once, the Dictorium became heavy with tension. Chatter interrupted Shei’s speech for only a moment before Ardoren himself called the room to silence and urged her to continue.

“I do not know the full length at which the Dragons are involved, but the Fah are in possession of proof that this series of attacks were directly influenced by a Dragon.” Although the unease thickened even further in the air, Shei moved along. “Because I have come this far to find a solution to this issue, I am asking for each of you to allow me to continue on this journey for the best solution. I am, after all, the only individual in this world that has the ability to fully represent the Fah and the Nymphs simultaneously.

“Before you respond to these pleas, I would like for you to consider what is involved in my plan for resolution. It is my intent to travel to Nyahna and seek the advice of the Graelynisse. As they are the oldest, wisest and most capable race in the whole of Logos-Anima, I am personally compelled to both warn them of an impending attack and ask for any guidance they may have concerning the Dragons’ Plan. If anyone could have more information than the Fah’Voy Ra and the Nymphs combined, it would be them. Even if they know nothing of this plan, or if there is a plan at all, we owe it to the Graes to keep them informed of a common enemy’s potential threats.”

Ardoren stood. “I must first say that I am thankful to have a servant as loyal to Nymphkind as you, Shei. You are wise to send for these noble Nymphs and myself to deliver your message directly. For this, I find nothing but gratitude in my heart for your service.

“Yet, I do have my concerns for what you have to deliver. I will be honest in admitting that, if you are soon on your way to Nyahna on official Nymph business, you will have done exceedingly well at your station.” Ardoren looked at Shei as though she were the only other person in the Dictorium. Essentially, he told his Diplomat that her forward progress in this matter rested solely on her preparation for this meeting.

The King continued. “As the Nymph courts are open sessions that never meet privately, you already understand that I must call all things into the light so that you may affirm your position on relevant matters. First and foremost, I am trying to ascertain whether it is arrogance or reason that leads you to take responsibility of Amanter’s position as the Diplomat between Grae and Nymph…” His pause was questioning, though erring near the delegation of blame.

Shei, noting that he was waiting for a response, answered his question. “I never said that I was traveling to Nyahna by myself, my Lord. All appropriate…”

Amanter stood from his seat, trembling hands holding onto the rim of the table as he pulled himself up. Smiling, he vocalized his interruption. “My Lord and his court, every day brings me closer to being on that wall,” he said as he pointed a shaking, gnarled finger at one of the Regalium. “I will offer my advice as it becomes necessary, but I would rather sleep in my warm bed than travel all that way.” His smile became even wider. “If I may, I would like to note that any thoughts that Shei would be traveling without me are actually quite sound… and completely agreeable by me!”

The whole room laughed at Amanter’s response to the matter. Most of them knew that as the old Nymph’s age increased, his care for court etiquette decreased proportionately. It was also noteworthy that his sense of humor was as recognized as he for his services to Nymphkind. Amanter, satisfied that he broke the ice that was mounting in the Dictorium, sat down with grunts and sighs to assist him in the endeavor.

Ardoren had a half smile as the laughter waned. “Well, that is settled. On to my second issue. Having known Poliden’Ra, King of the Fah’Voy Ra, for many Aunnei, I would expect that he would send his own diplomats to ask for assistance in this particular circumstance. Why hadn’t he done that?”

“My King, this is one of the many reasons why I have assessed my candidacy for this mission as being near flawless. Being that I am both Fah and Nymph, I have the particular advantage of being able to receive communications from the Fah’Voy Ra without the use of ‘traditional methods’. I was called by Poliden’Ra’s central collective, saving the trip of a Fah emissary. In the time that an emissary would take to arrive at Sheidell, I journeyed to Annayl in only half that time.” Shei stood a little taller, conviction burning white in her heart. “Even though I live amongst the Nymphs, I am as much a Fah Diplomat as any they would have sent.”

“Shei, I only mean to determine that you are taking this upon yourself responsibly, and not naively. I was not aware that you could communicate with them mentally, as it has been thirteen Aunnei without incidence. In fact, I am truly amazed at even the possibility.” Ardoren became more relaxed in his stance. “Now, away from the petty matters. Tell me what the Fah’Voy Ra know about the Dragon influence.”

The Diplomat planted her hands on the table firmly and leaned forward. As Shei began telling the story of Lower Sefspar and Ahn’s ansha attack as Sa’Kata had told it, she felt solid sentiment behind it. Once the tale was told, she laid out the fruits of the research performed two nights ago. As her evidence poured out, most of the members of the court leaned forward towards her. It became more indisputable with every moment; the feeling that the fabric of history was being woven right in front of their eyes. The seriousness of the matter was a behemoth that cast a shadow far darker than any concerns the Nymphs had since most of them could remember. Shei finished in saying, “Whether or not this matter becomes its full potential, it is worthy of our immediate attention. The greatest assets we have at this moment are our prompt, calculated action to educate ourselves further in this matter and our gratitude of the time that we have now to do so.”

Ardoren’s frame was pronounced with tension. “And you are confident that the Graelynisse have the information we need?”

“I am not certain of what the Graes can offer, my King; however, I aim to get any information with which we could possibly use to prepare ourselves.” It wasn’t easy for Shei to admit ignorance. While that was always the case, Manada’Vin, Shei’s mentor, stressed the importance of the solution instead of the problem. ‘Imagine that you are prepared for the situation you are facing already,’ she would say. ‘And that which you will need to accomplish that end will present itself.’ Preemptive manifestation.

“I agree that the Graelynisse are the people most equipped to offer the advice you seek.” Ardoren was only a breath away from allowing Shei to go on her journey, but even the Diplomat knew that there was more to that statement. The ‘however’ was already present, even though it wasn’t said. “Let us open the table now in the effort to create a strategy for this mission.”

***

Paca stood in the trade quarter of the Nymphallatess, a ten minute walk from the Dictorium. Looking down upon his new robes, he examined all the intricate details. Immediately as he removed it from the container in which it was packaged, the Mayan recognized some of the materials as being present on Eri’s clothing; such as the pearl white scales and the long, white fur. A cape replaced the robe Paca was expecting, and came with the scaled, knee length leggings and a leather tunic. He noticed that the shaft of each hair that covered the cloak was white at the tips and faded to dark grey at its base. “I cannot express how impressed I am with your creation, but I must ask- will the Graelynisse take offense if I am dressed like them?”

Azorob clasped his hands in front of his chest and flitted his wings. “I’m happy you asked, my dark friend. Yes, you are dressed in clothing that was directly inspired by Lyenthil’s Children, and believe me… I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time. However, it’s ‘rankless’. They will look for indicative markings on your tunic and find none. There is one figure that they will notice immediately, which is located on your left shoulder. It’s your ‘house signifier’. You’ll notice it on theirs as well.”

“What does it say?” Paca became nervous, because the little nymph was always addressing him by different titles- typically about his colour.

“My friend, Ziumedi, says that it means ‘Human’. I just wanted it to be as authentic as possible…”

The Mayan squinted his eye in vague recognition. The face of the crazy, old nymph flashed in his brain. “Zyoomedeeeee…” As Paca said it, he also felt his face take on the characteristics of that face.

“Yes! Him!” Azorob exclaimed excitedly. “Ziumedi knew it was for you, so he helped me choose the signifier.”

That made Paca very nervous, but he accepted the clothing anyways. Trust, in this case, seemed like the best policy. For now, he changed back into his first set of robes and placed the Grae armor back into its case. “Thank you, Azorob. It looks just like I’d hoped it would.”

The designer flitted his wings. “No, thank you! And please tell me what you think of the other four. When you get the chance to try them. Have a great day, Dark Man!”

Smiling, the Mayan made his way through the crowd of the trade quarter, en route to meet with Voy’Brakken to gain today’s lesson. The past two days have been intense work; taking most of Paca’s waking hours with very little notice. The days began with reading, then watching his mentor, then trying what he saw, and finally ending with reading supporting text. The learning process that Voy’Brakken allowed to become rigid practice had been more than effective. It seemed to the Mayan to be the way his mind preferred to be taught.

As he cracked the door to Voy’Brakken’s office, Paca was welcomed inside. “There you are. How are your studies?”

“Intense, but I would have it no other way.” Paca felt genuine in front of his teacher.

“Excellent,” the Nymph said calmly and picked up his scrying tool. “Ah… Ra’Toh saw your friend this morning.” The small, sharp tool was pointed at the Mayan as he was told this news.

“My friend?” There were an increasing number of Nymphs that could have been called that.

“Shei Rhessi. The Diplomat’s back from Annayl. As of this morning.”

There were few times in Paca’s life that he had felt so excited as he did that very moment. “My gods… do you know where I can find her?”

Voy’Brakken raised an eyebrow at the dark man. “Right now? She’s attending to her duties in the Dictorium; surrounded by the King and the most respectable Nymphs of both cities. I’m certain that Shei will send for you when her task is finished.” He paused and appeared to recall something. “Ra’Toh said that she seemed to be in good health. Don’t worry.”

Paca wasn’t worried; just relieved to an overwhelming degree. As she had been a part of every day since he had been here, the past three seemed like the longest days of his stay on Logos-Anima. As the news settled in, his mind eased into a more productive state. Of course, this didn’t change the fact that he was going to see her at his earliest convenience.

Voy’Brakken looked up at his pupil again. “Are you ready for your task today?”

“I am. What will you have me do?” Energy began to surge down the center of his neck, branching out to his shoulders.

“We have a patient in the room at the end of the hall. She was just placed in my care only moments before you arrived. Which is great, as I was hoping that you would be here to attempt an actual healing. You’ll need to hurry though.” Voy’Brakken rolled the pliable wood into a cylinder and carved “An’Ryn” on the back of the document. The Nymph tossed it into a large, wooden box and walked quickly out of the office, giving a polite gesture to Paca.

The room was the same one in which he recovered from his bad pranaic experience. The heavy silk blankets had been replaced with an oiled, leathery sheet. On top of the slick surface lay a slender, tall Nymph that had been drained of her colour. Three clear, serrated barbs pierced all the way through her left shoulder. One of them looked as though it ran through her lung as well. She had gone beyond the point of feeling pain; taking on a state of pure shock. Laying on her right side in fetal position, An’Ryn allowed the toothed prongs’ full three feet of length to be held up entirely by the wounds they created. Paca noticed something even more peculiar about the darts: they seemed to be siphoning the blood from her body… very slowly. Leaning in to further examine this feature, he confirmed that her blood was truly inside of the barbs. Furthermore, the teeth that lined their length seemed to be curling toward the wounds, into talons. The Mayan deduced that these were living things and not merely the natural defenses of some plant or animal. This is what demanded the sense of urgency.

Placing his thumbs near the wound, he began to plot his work area. As he looked at Voy’Brakken once more before moving forward, the Healer nodded at him approvingly as he circled to the back of the injured Nymph girl. Soothing hums filled the air and the Dark Man went to work on the wound. Time slowed and all else disappeared. The wounds opened like little mouths to expose the embedded portions of the barbs. Thick, red hairs were reaching out of the living prongs into the meat of their victim. With invisible hands, Paca twisted the barbs to collect these hairs around the shaft from which they came. Satisfied with the extraction of all the hairs, the barbs were removed from the wounds. Beginning from the inside of the wound, The Mayan worked to repair the gashes and punctures each barb made. Finally reaching the skin, the wound became no more than a scratch, which disappeared into soft, pale flesh. Vision returned and the workspace was energetically cleansed. Wet, spongy leaves were employed to remove any blood and poisons left on the girl. When he felt like he was done, Paca stood and straightened his back. His master nodded at him again, though with a smile this time.

Voy’Brakken went to the floor and picked up the barbs with a tough, black leaf; then carried them into his office. Paca followed that only after spending just a few more minutes with An’Ryn. He felt love for her- healing love. Compassion. Warmth. True healing. As he left, the Mayan looked back once more at the sleeping girl.

As Paca entered the room, the Healer displayed one of the barbs. “This is the pistol of the carnivorous Ukkhia flower. The outer skin is made up of calcium and starch, while the inside of the shaft is lined with highly absorbent fibers. Liquid separates the starch from the calcium, causing it to form hairs that bond with the wound. At the base of each of the teeth is a pit that pulls liquid into the shaft. Had this not been removed from her body, the blood in her body would be entirely displaced into the shaft.”

“She had to fall pretty hard onto these…”

“No, they’re fired at their unsuspecting prey. One only needs to step on the petals of the Ukkhia to have one of these run them through. It is strange though… I don’t know of any patches of these flowers in the area. When An’Ryn wakes, I will have to ask her where she was felled.” Voy’Brakken tilted the shaft and watched the blood run to the lower end. “It’s a migrating threat that could easily be carried by a large wandering animal. Where that animal dies, a new colony of Ukkhia is formed; posing a threat to anyone or anything that stumbles onto it.”

“Amazing. How can one tell if they are close to a patch?” Paca was frightened of the possibility of being ensnared by such an insidious trap himself during his journey on Logos-Anima.

“A mature Ukkhia flower will display its spears standing straight up. By stepping on the petals, you aim the spears as well as fire them. Enough of these on display and you will know. It is my guess that this particular flower is an isolated incidence. An’Ryn is a very intelligent gatherer and wouldn’t wander into a patch of these unaware.” Voy’Brakken glanced at the frond and then back at his student. “You did well in there. It seems that you have a gift for the healing arts.”

The Mayan was honored to receive such praise from someone who had dedicated his life to the Art. “How much more difficult could it be than what I did in there?”

“It can be much more challenging. If you are skilled enough, you can bring someone back to life- if they aren’t dead for too long. Yet, even at your pace, I don’t think that you would truly understand the workings of that kind of task for many aunnei. I’ve never successfully raised the dead before, but my teacher had.” The Nymph grinned. “You’re doing well. Look for opportunities to practice as much as you can.

He continued. “Now, for today’s studies, you’re going to learn some rejuvenation techniques.”

“In what way will I be able to rejuvenate someone?” In Paca’s mind, there were many forms of rejuvenation. Much of his studies with his tribe dealt with spiritual morale.

“It is not hard to imagine being on a long journey among a group of people. If you are pressed for time, this technique may help you along your way.” The Nymph explained it plainly, but Paca started to imagine that his teacher had somehow recognized that as being a possibility that was soon to occur. “Inside every person, there is a specific kind of energy… even different from that of animals. You know that, at one time, the Nymphs were little more than animals, but when the nyfyles came to them, they became aware. It was as though the two beings, though very different in many ways, completed each other. Longer life and logic were given to the simple Nymphs. While one could never witness an unhosted Nymph, wild nyfyles are found all the time. They are no more intelligent than the vin.

“All this to say that the proper convergence of energy can bring a greater quality of life. The true meaning of rejuvenation can be found in another type of flower called the Golnys, which comes from Sora Dell, the forest farthest north, near the island on which the Magon have taken residence. This flower matures by giving birth to itself repeatedly. Starting off as a scaled cone, the flower extends only the petals closest to its stem to collect light when the Sura is out. As night falls, the petals fold back and twist around the stem, which gets longer simultaneously. The next day, the process repeats. After a while, the flower hangs by the thin cord, it created of itself, from the tree. This illustrates what happens to any intelligent being during the course of the day. A person collects other energies on the outermost portions of their own and releases it at the end of the day when they sleep. Though some energies permeate deeper than what is shed over a good night’s sleep, he wakes far more prepared for the next day. This is the working order of natural Rejuvenation.

“However, as a healer, you are vastly more equipped if you know how to activate this mechanism. Today, you will learn how it works.” Voy’Brakken leaned against one of the dirt walls to refresh his mind.

Paca was intrigued by his master’s explanation. “By using the illustration of the Golnys flower, are you suggesting that energy travels in a specific direction?”

Impressed, the Nymph gently pushed himself off of the wall and and approached his student. “Precisely. I want to show you, but I will have to ask you to sit for me.” Once Paca descended to his knees and sat on his heels, the Healer continued. “Energy is balanced in every way imaginable. As far as the direction in which it travels, energy begins at the head and ends at the feet. However, your reserved energy is most heavily concentrated at hip level and, as it fills the body, spills out of the top of your head. Here.” Voy’Brakken placed one of his staunch fingers onto Paca’s head, at the intersection of the skull seams. “When you shed the outermost layer of your energy when you sleep, it begins at this same point and rolls down to your feet.”

“I understand, but how does this apply in a healer’s effort to provide rejuvenation?”

“You have to be the stem.”

Night fell upon the Nymph Territory. The subtle glow of the underground Nymphallatess escaped the crescent gash that obfuscated the Trade Quarter. The trees that grew tall within the common area of the city, formed a dense canopy that hid all but light from the view of anyone or anything looking from above. They also muffled the droning, unintelligible echoes of hundreds of conversations that occurred below the surashade.

The guards circling the perimeter watched for wandering wildlife and anything else that didn’t belong in the area. As most watches came and went without any excitement, the night sky proved to be the entertainment for those who protected the border of their territory. Every night was different, because the asteroid belt that scanned the sky from north to south was always changing. On nights like this, the belt was especially clear. One could see the sparks of distant collisions within the silvery gash; as many as ten a night. Because of Tyrion’s Belt, the creatures of Logos-Anima did not need exceptionally great night vision, as long as they were in the plains during the middle of the night. Only during early evening and the hours approaching the surarise was this skill absolutely needed for most of the animals to survive the predators that thrived on more subtle tactics of acquiring their prey.