The air was warm and soft, much too warm for a winter’s night. It should have been cold and biting, yet as it passed through the thin material of Isobel’s lace nightgown and wrapper the faint breeze was a welcome caress. Surrounding the grove were megaliths, tall standing stones that formed a circle around the wood, lending it a pagan air that suited the eve of the winter solstice. This was not where she had first seen her stag, yet there was something familiar about it too that pulled at her memory. It was as if she had been here before, a long, long time ago. She walked in silence, the pearls sewn into her white gown glinting in the moonlight. It was pure magic, this grove, like something out of a fairy tale. At the end of the path was a stone slab that had been made into some sort of altar. Covering it was a beautiful blue velvet cloth embroidered with a gold triscale like the one embossed on the pouch Daegan had worn. There was also a tall pewter cup that resembled a chalice, and a dirk that was curved and imprinted with strange markings.
