Skon shivered as the torches containing the sacred fire were driven into the ground around in the heart of the vale. The vision of her unspoken leapt out at her each time she blinked.
“Are you alright?” one her companions asked. His voice was kind, but his eyes said ‘I told you so.’
She nodded and hopped up on the squat rock called Fallen Dawn. Fallen Dawn was wide with a flat top and horizontal stripes that mirrored the colors of a sunrise.
Skon searched the vale until she found the skulking shapes of the unspoken.
“Hurry!” she said. Her fear made the torches flare. “They are in the Vale.”
The other innate fire bearers joined her atop Fallen Dawn, while those who studied the art with the masters manned the torches. The skittish apprentices stood within the ring, ready to spring into action should something go wrong.
The students began singing and the sacred fire danced to their tune. Skon closed her eyes and tried to feel the fire’s song, but nothing could tamp down the fear that her unspoken was ready to kill her.
“Just dance,” someone whispered. “It will come to us.” Skon opened her eyes and saw that the others on Fallen Dawn could not connect with the sacred flames.
They moved around awkwardly, but the flames did not arc across the vale. Without the dance of the flames, the warmth of the Vale of Morning could not be released.
“Something is wrong,” an apprentice cried.