No voice, no words answer Clover's call right away.
However, a brief mental image, as if half-remembered, flows gently across her mind - as well as the minds of other crystal bearers nearby:
The outline of an unfamiliar figure, back turned and viewed from behind. Clad in ebon, quietly and peacefully strolling through the woods. A faint flash of long, crimson hair.
A few notes of an old, oddly wistful tune, hummed beneath the leaves.
And an ornate, guarded sanctum in the Shroud, dedicated to the Twelve, visited by fireflies beneath the starlight.
The echo fades.
However, a brief mental image, as if half-remembered, flows gently across her mind - as well as the minds of other crystal bearers nearby:
The outline of an unfamiliar figure, back turned and viewed from behind. Clad in ebon, quietly and peacefully strolling through the woods. A faint flash of long, crimson hair.
A few notes of an old, oddly wistful tune, hummed beneath the leaves.
And an ornate, guarded sanctum in the Shroud, dedicated to the Twelve, visited by fireflies beneath the starlight.
The echo fades.