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| - The Kaldorei came down the stairs from her bedroom in a plain robe and her normal belt, fit with her favorite knives. She stood before the hearth and reached for the simple candles on the stone mantlepiece. Taking two in her hand, she held one up and looked over it. It was halfway burned, but the other one was all but a stub of wax. She didn't exactly have a choice. Naiama paused. "No choice?" she asked herself aloud. She stared at the two candles. "I have a choice, and I choose the better," she assured herself and replaced the bum candle on the mantle. When she walked to the kitchen, she spied her old, black journal on the table. Hesitating at what she was about to do, she looked up to the ceiling. Sprigg was in Naiama's room while she sensed Py'amus in the guest room. And there was a rat somewhere in the roof, much to her annoyance. The elf sighed and went to the stores in the corner of the kitchen. She looked down at the container of salt, hesitating again. Finally she grabbed a cloth, dipped it into the salt and wrapped it up. Should have bought more salt for tanning, rather than resorting to this, she thought, but she had not done any leatherworking for some time. She had not hunted for some time. A few minutes later and she had carved a crescent moon into the base of the candle with her skinning knife. Before crossing the threshold into the evening air, Naiama grabbed the journal and matches along with the bundle of salt and the candle. She made her way down the path on the hill, and, when she reached the forest, smirked to a blonde cutpurse who widened her eyes and slinked off behind a tree. There may have been advantages to being the only white-and-blue-haired elf in the kingdom. With daggers. Naiama glanced at the cerulean sky between the treetops and made her way down to the shore of Mirror Lake. She sat down amidst the brown pebbles and waited silently for the sun to set. When the first stars were visible, she stood and waded shin-deep into the water. Uttering under her breath, she sprinkled water onto the candle. Now, she knew she was no priestess, but some instinct had told her what to do, pulled from the depths of herself. She returned to the shore and wiped a hand dry on her robe before opening the rag with the salt. Then she grabbed a handful and walked in a circle, dropping the salt into the sand, making a circumference large enough for her to sit. "Salt is the earth, the pure earth. Pure as old white father Malorne." Naiama did her best to ignore the quiet hissing in her mind, though she couldn't answer that question consciously anyway. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the circle and pushed the candle into the sand before her. She took one of the matches, placing a thumb over its tip, and struck it against her belt. It flared with a noxious smell, then the fire spread to the black wick as she brought the match to the candle. "Great Mother of nighttime and light, so long has it been since I felt you," she started in the elvish tongue. "Grant me protection from this evil in this circle of earth, white as the moon, white as Malorne's hide." Naiama chewed on her lip, gazing at the solitary candle, whose orange lit spilt to the ripples on the lake. Eyeing the reflections of the sky in the water, she was crestfallen to see a cloud covering the stars. "I beg you, Mother Elune...cannot She of the Dreaming also save me from my torment?" she whispered desperately and put a hand on the black journal by her side. The elf shut her eyes in dismay, but the deep hissing cut out abruptly. She peeked out from under an eyelid to see the cloud moving in the reflections, and when she looked to the sky above the pregnant, glowing orb was there. Filled with a relief and a reverence she hadn't felt in a month, she exhaled with watery eyes and opened the journal she had started a year ago. Naiama began to read it.
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