A sense of .Conviction.

[kyemar]

Perhaps this was not the nicest of places to wander to with a storm brewing overhead, but the ex-beta was not focused on what was nice and what was not any more. Having previously been a sceptic on the myth of Larka and her family, she could feel stirrings of belief fluttering in her heart. Travelling through the Stone Den and up to the Stone Castle that supposedly held the wicked Wolfbane and all the way on to the Valley of Kosov, she found it hard to feel anything else. She had utterly missed out the Vale of Shadows as she had searched for the meaning to her existence, recalling in the myths her highly superstitious mother had told her; the murder of Tsinga and Bran at the place. She did not know why the thought of retracing the steps of the family, who possibly had not even existed, brought her comfort. Or why indeed the route seemed to draw on her heart and tell her that she must go that way, but they did. Something about her travels brought about a strange feeling in her heart, a feeling of belonging, of something akin to remembrance. Her mother’s influence had taught her never to discount anything until it was proven fact or fiction.

So here she found herself, the white she-wolf of the forests, wandering carefully into the fabled Vale of Shadows. Her paws seemed heavy as she carried a vole in her jaws, and the dense trees flanking each of her sides were formidable. Dead crows hung from the branches of the entrance trees, and the huge wooden masses guided her route to the Vale itself, splitting like the red sea, showing her which way to go. The she-wolf kept her head held high and her piercing green-gold eyes searched the horizon as she stepped proudly onwards. She saw this as a challenge, to overcome the fear that wrapped itself around this place like a serpent around a branch. Once more, on her travels, Kyemar found herself with her heart quickening its beat, and a strange nostalgia seeping into her. There seemed to be something all too real about what she had heard of this place. As the trees opened up, the she wolf stopped dead in her tracks. There was the boulder and the dead thicket, and as she looked up at the wolf standing there, she half expected to see the blind but wise eyes of mad old Tsinga. But no, this wolf was not The Seer of the Old Times, as her mother had said. Hopefully, Kyemar thought, this one was just as perceptive. She dropped to dead vole at her feet.

“I heard that long ago it was custom to offer a meal to The Seer of The Vale. I’m traditional at heart, hence my faith in your abilities. I come seeking your knowledge.”