Okay, pay attention to this. I meant to put fancy little, uh, things on the previous chapter so that it means you're being, um, transported, if you will, to another place. So, yes, this somewhere is different than somewhere. Okay?

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The forest stood before her, behind her, all around. Everywhere. The taunting moon stood in its field of black, its luminous body a mere slit. The raging crys sounded from every direction; screams and shouts, of victory and loss. Shadows danced along the ground, their makers unseen or heard. Panic wafted from her, clarifying her fear to anyone within the area.

"Follow me, find me,"

The voice rang as clear as a bell, reaching her ears like liquid. "Vihrea?" she asked shakily, her hope crawling greater be slight.

"Come to me, Vasha."

"How? I cannot see you."

"Follow my voice."

Vasha set off at a blind run, nimbly dodging the tree roots and branches. Her bare feet bloodied as they kissed the briars on the ground, but she ran on. As fast as her legs could carry her, she ran. The forest was thinning, and they opened to a clearing, the spot where her sister used to come and play her flute. The melodious serenade of the instrument floated in the air, and the sweet scent of rain travelled with it.

"Vihrea?"

A flicker of movement and she appeared, like a spirit floating into existence. Tears streamed down Vihrea's face, or at least what seemed like her. The music she had heard before was replaced by a crow's call, and the rain with the coppery smell of blood.

"No, Vihrea, don't-"

"Young pup, beware. Beware of friends, and beware of foes. Innocent blood shall spill, war will rise and danger rage. Beware."

And with that, the suspended vision faded.

Sweat drenched Vasha's face as she woke. Instantly, she longed for her sister. Longed for her tales, her music, her scent. The way Vihrea would calm her in thunderstorms, and after nightmares. Each memory brought her sibling's name to her lips. She gave a small cry for her mother, and the woman came to the door, concern etched over her face.

"What is wrong, my love?" she asked, her voice gentle and kind.

"Vihrea, I miss her," Vasha said as her mother sat on the bed. She leaned into the woman's arm and allowed her dark hair to be stroked.

"I miss her, too. But, remember your father's words."

"He only did that because he did not want to be reminded of the great one he lost. I will go on speaking of Vihrea."

"Hush, love. It was foolish, I'll admit. But you mustn't, do not speak of her, no matter how much it hurts."

Vasha turned to face her mother. "Can you still hear her voice? Can you still see her face? Do you remember?"

Her mother's face hardened. "No, I cannot! For 13 years, I have sat in the spot where I last saw Vihrea, hoping that fate was not true. I've tried, love, I've tried to recall, but all is not possible. I only wish..."

And she wept.

"I have sent her signs; notes, her pentagram; hoping that I would get a sign in return. But no. It is not possible." Her mother said through a haze of tears.

"There is a way, Mother." Vasha began to tell her tales of Vihrea. The times they'd skipped stones in the lake, the games they'd played, recited the stories she'd told her, hummed the tunes of her sister's flute.

Hope shined.