The Firesong, they’ve come to kill us. This may very well be the last record of Druid Senna. It’s not my best work, but what death letter is?
My instincts served me better than my poor friends and family when the Firesong attacked. I watched their lives extinguished beyond the boulder that hid me from view. The Firesong stalked ever closer to my hiding place, their weapons drawn and flames raised high. But the most curious thing happened.
The spirit motes, which we’ve all experienced before, cascaded down in a thick blanket over the valley. It settled on the Firesong, their shapes all but silhouettes in the fog. They struggled for only a moment before their arms fell to their sides. I thought they’d fall to the floor in a deep slumber, but they marched toward the waterfall and disappeared from view. I don’t know what happened to them after that, but it unnerved me.
The motes surround me and animals prowl all about. I fear I won’t survive this. But my account must. Someone has to know what happened. The Chronicle, we have to keep it safe. It tells us who we are.
