Vrana of Orgl reminded herself to breathe.

There was still the sound of the Fiona flowing past the city but otherwise a profound silence such as she had only known on the stillest nights. She could see vague movement but hear nothing. Perhaps creation itself needed to breathe again, to release its grasp, to return to whatever passed for normal.

Ah, a sprinkling of voices drifted up to her as people tried once more to speak. A world of white began to take on faint shadow, to limn itself in growing color, to become visible.

Never in her fifty-eight years had she seen anything like what she had just witnessed.

One lone woman had become—-for a few moments—-a star, a god standing on the earth.

We can breathe again. The death spell failed though we are not yet sure at what cost.

The battle resumes. Both sides sustain losses but the world did not end.

Shabbat shalom, my naughty night herons!

--the BB