Groaning, Leeria came slowly back to consciousness, lifting with some difficulty her head from where it lolled against her shoulder. As her eyes cracked open, she became dimly aware that her feet no longer touched the glades grasses and that something bound each of her arms tightly, pulling them wide away from her torso. With an alarmed cry, she came fully to her senses, tugging vainly against her restraints and casting her gaze wildly about her.
On unsteady feet, Leeria pressed onward, winding ever deeper into the labyrinth of twisted boughs and knotted trunks. Never had she as a Ranger felt more out of step with the natural world. It was as though the forest around her had become detached from what was natural, what was real, transforming more and more into a world of its own the deeper she delved. Her world.
“Come to me, sweet child. Come. Drink of my font, nourish yourself at my stream.”