The morning of the one hundred and fifth year began with a different kind of wind. It came from the west, but it was not the gentle breeze that usually carried the scent of the foundation stone. This wind was stronger, sharper, carrying a chill that cut through the warmth of the garden. I felt it from my place in the water and the stone and the song. Something was coming. Something that would test the garden in ways it had never been tested before.
Tama and Orin had passed on the guardianship years ago. The current guardians were a pair named Sola and Brenn. They were young but wise, raised in the garden's traditions and committed to the vision. They felt the change in the wind too.
"The west wind is different," Sola said, standing at the edge of the western ridge. "It is not the wind of
