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[white_flowers]

"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.

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[majereblack.livejournal.com]

There is a man, in robes of ebony velvet, that swallow shadow like the thirsty gulps water. He sits on a log; a fire has a camp-pot over it, and there is waterskin, a few packets of spices, and odds and ends assorted here.

It is, Raistlin reflects, missing only Caramon's growling stomach to complete this nostalgic scene from the past.

"Stew? The rabbit is fresh." But his hands are clean of blood, and there is no hareskin here now. To whit, the stew is spiced; bubbling with meat, potatoes nd greens, it smells enticingly of marjoram.