The forest was dark and cold. Pale as starlight on a cloudy night, a silver rose gleamed from deep green and gray shadows. Through murky gray waters its cool light glanced, wavering and sometimes vanishing as tendrils of weeds, mire and muddy water floated over the place where it lay. Cloaked in night, age and forgotten places for centuries untold, the silver rose yet did not tarnish or lose any of its magical splendor.

Sweeping a swath of thick, brown hair away from her eyes, Liarra gazed fondly at the gleaming silver thing. She had found it, long ago as a little child, and the knowledge she had kept to herself. Not because she wished the rose all her own, so much that she felt no need to share it. She loved it, that was all, and others need not love, but they might if they would. A soft, sweetly content smile curved her lips, softening her piercing golden gaze and the hard lines of her normally grim face.

Softly, a drop of water splashed over the rose, rippling its silvery sheen until it almost looked like a moon. Another and then another drop followed, until a steady pattering had settled over the whole of the Mire. Loosening her cowl with one hand, Liarra held the other out, catching like tiny kisses the warm, Summer raindrops in her hand.