By a great lady named Morgan.
Closing her eyes, she cast her senses outward, like blowing out a candle and watching the smoke extend in all directions from the source; she sought to touch him once again, seeking an answer to the question that had been tumbling in her mind since their last encounter, regardless of the amount of time she had spent attempting to quell her thoughts in ancient readings. She touched other creatures briefly, disengaging almost instantly after discerning that the thoughts she sought were not there. Doe stealing quietly through undergrowth, a vixen crying under the moon in search of her mate, the nightly sojourning owl fluffing its feathers against the cold; all quiet, all innocent, none coming closer to her.
Then her thoughts touched a dark, brooding, ethereal presence. She gasped in surprise at the fervor of emotion that washed over her mind and stepped back in response to the pounding…
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