The moon casts a silvery glow over the rippling water as later that night, Lysennia returns to the deck alone. Her bare feet feel the wooden planks beneath them, worn smooth by the elements, and the hours scrubbing by sailors. The crew are largely idling having little to do at the current time. The steersman keeps the ship on course, a lookout watches for obstacles ahead, and there are the sounds of water lapping at the side of the boat, mixed with snoring coming from various directions.
Taking a piece of charred wood from the brazier on the deck, Lysennia marks out a circle, the symbol for the wholeness, the unification of all things. Within the circle she inscribes four runes, Earth, Sea, Sky, and Nature. Not runes of power these, merely mnemonics to help her focus, not really necessary at all. The magic woven by those who follow the four paths does not require the formulas of alchemy or the strict rubric of sorcery. In some ways it is more instinctive, almost primal. The Druid opens herself up to channel the will of the forces of life, moulds and shapes that will, which is raw and unfocused, into what is required there and then. Tonight however it is not the power of life she hopes to tap into, but rather something within her, Landra's gift to speak with the spirits.
Stepping into the circle she kneels and lowers the hood of her cloak. The moonlight catches her hair as she lets it fall about her shoulders. She takes a deep breath. This is the first time she has tried this since she and Wolf had parted company. With him it had seemed so easy, she spoke and the spirits answered, eagerly. The whole time she had been in the glade, she had never felt truly alone. Here it feels different, she struggles briefly with herself as she thinks about what it might mean should the spirits not hear her call. But no, she has to be sure, they will hear her.
Closing her eyes she tries to relax, to sense the flow of life around her, and then she starts to sing. Her voice wavers a little at first, almost as if she is startled to hear the sound coming from her own throat, but that passes almost immediately, and her voice becomes clear and assured. The song is old, its words lost before any had thought to record them, and an age since any could truly say they understood them, yet to Lysennia they are clear, as if writ in letters a hundred feet tall across the essence of her spirit. Her voice never wavers as the melody soars, carrying with it the wistful joy, the freedom of flight. Then she feels it, the light touch, the ripple of the air brushing her hair against her cheek. She smiles as she senses the presence of the spirits, and opens her eyes. Two or three wind sprites weave in and out of the rigging of the ship causing canvas to flutter with their passing, and before her the larger figure of a zephyr. One or two sailors look up at the rigging, unable to see the sprites, muttering something about the breeze getting up.
"You came. I wasn't sure if I could reach you outside of the glade, but I called and you heard." Lysennia is filled with a mixture of happiness, pride and childlike glee that she had managed to attract the attention of the air spirits.
"Welcome little sister how is it with you this fine evening?", asks the zephyr.
"All is as it should be, as Landra wills it", she replies.
"That is well. May Landra guide you safely in the path of Life", the words were formal, but Lysennia senses the warmth within.
"I see you travel, perhaps our journeys may be in the same direction for a time."
"That would be most welcome", she replies,
"for our journey is made in haste. We seek certain individuals fleeing from the consequences of their actions. Those actions seemed part of a plot to thwart the creation of new life and in its stead, allow the vile practice of Necromancy to prosper. I would ask if you and your kin can ease our passage, give us favourable winds to speed our journey. We have lost so much time already to those we pursue, encountering a storm whilst at sea may allow them to escape us."
"It shall be as you ask. These others", the zephyr indicated the sprites,
"will carry the word ahead. This ship is to remain unmolested as it bears you to your destination. Meantime, long has it been since I last spoke with one of Landra's chosen."
Lysennia feels herself being gently lifted to her feet, her cloak billowing around her as the wind takes it.
"Let us talk awhile, that I may come to know you better", she again feels the lightest touch of the breeze on her skin and allows herself to be drawn to the prow of the ship before perching precariously on the bowsprit. And there she sits for the next couple of hours to all outward observation talking to, occasionally laughing with the wind that whips around her, and though at times the gusts are quite strong, particularly when others approach her, she remains sat at ease with no hint that she may fall into the waters below.