Birth
-Sandry-
The sun rose weak and yellow, but Sandry smiled all the same. She sat on the roof of Discipline in a simple gown, her poise relaxed. In her gentle fingers she carefully held a spindle, scratched and chipped. Threads in faded colours hummed under her touch, greeting her, reminding her.
Pines pierced her mind: Briar – rough from experience, tightly bound to them as the vines, fiercely loyal. The green threads called the scent of fresh soil – the base for growth, for raw, natural beauty. Lightning soon struck the girl, but it filled her with assurance, cold assurance that told of constance. Tris – she is quick to turn, slow to comfort. Complex and ever-changing. The blue weaving called the scent of a rain-cloud – the essence of unpredictability, but the bearer of crops and success. A warm feeling then built in the young mage's core. It was not a consuming heat, rather a pleasant continuum. Daja – she burns with steady endurance, holds many burdens. She moves with the sea; she understands unity and how it can be severed. The formerly red fabric called the scent of wood – life, habitat, what had saved her from the depths of the sea; an ultimate holder of fire.
Sandry closed her eyes; their circle was complete. It was the birth of a family.