Misty

I’m dreaming. I know this is a vision–a glimpse into life happening far, far away. I think I love this power the most.

I think I’m somewhere on the far northern coast of Crescent Falls, near the border with Celestoria. It’s definitely one of the fog-soaked islands–an obscure, rural pack territory.

I stand on a hill overlooking a cottage. Yellow, winter grass hugs the little house, smoke rising from its chimney. A young woman with mousy-brown hair steps outside, bundled in a coat, hiking a messenger bag over her shoulder as she turns back to the door and smiles, saying something to the woman standing just out of view...