Prologue: Called

She woke suddenly, calm and still and instantly aware. From the slanting, reddish evening light starting to peek around the thick curtains at the window to the dim embers of the day’s near-dead fire to the chill of perpetual winter trying to creep at her through her thick, furred bedding, it was all right there in the night elven priestess’ awareness, details fully formed as if she hadn’t been insensate only seconds ago. Her eggshell blue, luminous eyes blinked a few times before she looked over at the empty place in the bed beside her, resting her hand on the spot where Leothir often lay as if the bedding there could still hold hints of the warmth of his skin, the comfort of his arms. He hadn’t been back for the past week, though, so only chill shal’dorei silk met the pads of her fingers. She tugged her hand back, vaguely disappointed.

I feel… unsettled, she realized with a sort of cool detachment as she shoved herself to sitting, the thin strap of her nightgown slipping down her slender shoulder. Her silver hair tumbled around her head and shoulders, long and tousled from sleep and dripping into her eyes. Rhoelyn Silverwing reached up a hand to brush the worst of it back automatically, unthinkingly, her attention instead focused on a burning, glowing, crystalline impression that she felt from somewhere at the back of her mind, at the core of her heart. I need to leave.

The priestess of Elune nodded to herself as the thought expanded into a certainty, more awareness. She was called, and she needed to go. Soon.

Shoving the covers of her bed back, she slipped her dainty feet to the cold floor and stood, shivering while her gaze roamed with purpose around the tidy house on the outskirts of Everlook. Taking stock. Laying out plans. With a vague impatience eating at her, the little night elf set into motion, starting by stoking the dying fire.

She may as well be warm while she prepared to leave for Darnassus.