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Falling Rain led them into the depths of nearby pine forest. Once they had pushed their way through the outer skirts of the pine trees, they found themselves in another world of damp mosses and soft pine needles.
Tarkyn murmured, “Lumaya,” and raised a soft ball of white light. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “Sorcerers aren’t as adept in the dark as woodfolk.” He gazed around at the closely woven canopy above them and the soft yellow and green mosses that grew in such profusion between and up the trees. A narrow trickle of water gurgled gently as it pushed its way through the moss and pine needles. “This is beautiful in here, isn’t it?”
Falling Rain eyed him but didn’t reply, simply showing him to a dry spot where they could sit cross-legged opposite each other on a soft bed of dr
