THE ROSE WITHINA
mberlik’h was falling. Her skin was being torn by a field of sharp nettles that were situated on the side of a slippery mountain filled with treacherous plants. She tried to stop herself from tumbling down the mountain, grabbing hopelessly onto various roots that bulged out of the dark earth. The throbbing roots belonged to a series of tattered trees that curled and twisted across the mountain; snapping, biting and pinching Amberlik’h as she thundered past them.
She tried to grab hold of the vibrating roots around her but had found herself releasing them instantly. The nettles that had pierced her skin had left her unable to obtain a permanent grip on the roots as she screamed in pain. She had no way of stopping herself.
Filling the mountain with her screams, it had tak
