The slight, though perfectly-proportioned, figure meandered along the banks of the Great River, her skin luminous in the moonlight and her variegated eyes shining more brightly than the constellations peppering the Narnian sky. Her golden tresses carried a brilliance all their own, making her impossible to miss. As she gracefully stepped across a fallen log, she sang softly to herself, her pitch exact. Skirts swishing behind her, the young woman quickened her pace; clearly, the mission which pressed her out-of-doors at such an hour could not wait.
All was silent around her–silent, but not entirely still. A shadow glided through the darkness; though it might easily have outpaced her, it matched her stride, following and observing at a distance. The dryads, who certainly sensed both the malevolent presence in their midst and the girl's obvious peril, held themselves back, either unwilling or unable to aid her. Her own thoughts so captivated her that she failed to notice anything amiss as her pursuer gradually closed the distance separating them.
Finally, she stopped, lowering herself gracefully onto a rock overlooking the placid river. Pulling a piece of paper from the pack she carried, the girl began scribbling feverishly. Periodically, she would read over her work, a pink tinge creeping onto her cheeks. Now drawn close enough to be able to make out the words easily, the unseen watcher grimaced. Action would have to be swift.
And permanent.
