(no subject)

"We must meet, and soon, my dear."

The strange whisper had floated to her ears even before she had returned to the bar, sifting down between past and present in that space which is no space. No more than a whisper, carried on a wind of its own, and with an odd hint of some spice wafting through the air-not air where she had been.

The White Rider is more than just slightly intrigued by this, and it is much on her mind as she walks through the edge of the forest.