The sun climbed higher on the house, and its rays bathed the plains in a golden glow.
Alai and Ubel nodded, the light from the hazy balls illuminating their faces as they watched silently.
"Prophecy?" She stared. "So you're telling me that the writing we saw was made by a dragon?!"
As silence filled the room, Alai nodded, stood, and walked to a bookshelf. She pushed books aside with focused intent, giving Aletha a chance to quietly observe her surroundings.
(The place feels lively. Even after the tornado, birds chirp, fish sing, and grass dances.)
Phthonus fixed his eyes on the art hung on the walls. Emine spoke reassuringly to the crew, while Pridia, though usually goofy, remained silent.
Alai shook her head, then slid her finger along the spine of the middle book.
"Indeed."
Swiftly, she slid the book out of the shelf and carefully placed it on the table. Then, she pried open the leatherback with ease, revealing a dozen writings inked in dark, bold letters.
