How much had changed? How different was the world into which she had awoken from the one in which she had slept?

Something had summoned her from her sleep, a thought or a dream, a voice or an act, but a thing of such power and immediacy that it commanded her attention and demanded that she be present. No one had come to her; no one had disturbed her sleep. This was something else. This was raw instinct telling her it was time to come awake.

And so she had obeyed.

She sat up slowly, taking her time, lifting the covers away so she could sit on the edge of her bed and determine that her sense of balance and the strength of limbs and body were sufficient to allow her to function. When she was satisfied, she stood up and walked to the closest window and looked out. She was facing west and could see the sun just slipping behind the horizon as the shadows of the forest trees stretched toward Paranor’s walls and towers with inky fingers.

She turned away and stood looking into the darkness of her chamber. She must discover why was she awake, what it was that in her dreams or subconscious musings had been so compelling.

She closed her eyes, centered herself, and waited.

Elfstones.

The word came unbidden, but she couldn’t know its portent.

She walked to the dressing table, shedding her sleepwear as she went, soaked the washcloth that was always waiting next to the basin of water that was always kept fresh, and began to wash herself. When she was finished, she dried and dressed in fresh clothing chosen from her closet. Her Druid Sleep was ended. She was back in the real world to deal with whatever real problem was waiting.

She walked to the mirror and began to brush her long, once-dark hair, streaked now with gray, the years having caught up to her in spite of the temporary reprieves granted her by the Druid Sleep. She had used it five times since becoming Ard Rhys, each period chosen carefully and with consideration for how matters fared both within and without the walls of the Keep. She had been alive for almost 110 years, yet she looked 50. She glanced at the reflection of her mostly unlined face. Possibly even younger, she corrected herself. But she did not take the sleep out of vanity or a desire to prolong her life; it was out of need and worry. Before she could give herself over to the death that awaited them all, Druid Sleep or no, she needed to find the next Ard Rhys. Among the members of the order, among those who had come late into her service but had stayed true to their vows, she must find a new leader.

She wondered suddenly how many remained of those she had left behind.