Pilgrimage

the VOICE In reality's shadow the blind see best The tree pulsed with light as Bastien took a seat upon its root, and a peal of soft laughter erupted from within, as though the bartender had told her a particularly amusing joke. "I am neither Frey nor Ludo, and I am not the Safrin whom you hold so dear in your heart. They are older than I, yet no wiser I fear." The overhanging branches glittered, racing with light as if the hollow of the tree was feeding it. "I am called the Voice, but you may address me however you wish," she said. "You are pure, young one, and filled with questions. What is it that you wish, that you have come bearing gifts to a shrine?"