The Power

The stars were vast in the sky, tiny pinpricks of light. The rift-lights were not visible with no clouds in the sky. She picked out the constellations: old mother, the hound, the sage, the bear. Argen dozed nearby in his bedroll, and the fire was reduced to smoldering coals, but the dry woodsmoke rose true in the calm night. Anya was several spans away, in her trance enveloped by wispy blues, violets and crimson. Ros could sense her power even from here, and she grew stronger everyday. She hoped Anya would be as strong as they needed her to be.