Before the Convening
Autumn came with more decisiveness than spring.
One morning the silverwood forest was green and the next, or so it seemed, the first gold was moving through it, a deliberate advance from the edges inward, the trees preparing in their ancient and reliable way for the season they were built for. The northern wind returned to its full character. The citadel settled back into the posture that suited it, cold and stone and permanent, the summer's uncertain gold giving way to the grey clarity of autumn.
Elowen was preparing.
Not in the old way, the preparation of a woman arranging herself into the appropriate form for an occasion, selecting the right composure for the right room, calibrating her appearance against the expectations of whoever would be in it. She was prepa
