The Temple's Hall of Offerings shimmered with afternoon light, each relic catching and bending it until the air itself seemed woven of moonbeams. Tyrande sat cross-legged on the floor before the display case, polishing a stand with the intensity of someone determined to prove that dust was a myth.
"This," she muttered darkly, "is not what I imagined serving Elune would be like."
From the doorway, Lytavis smiled. "You imagined fewer polishing cloths?"
Tyrande looked up, grinning despite herself. "Fewer cloths. More miracles."
"Miracles usually come after the cloths," Lytavis said, setting her satchel down beside a pillar. She'd come to check on a Sister who'd fainted during morning prayers, but the patient was resting quietly, leaving her a few minutes of peace.
Skye, perched high on the carved beam above, gave a low croak that could only be described as judgmental.
Lytavis tilted her head. "What is she glaring at?"
"Dust motes, I assume." Tyrande sat back with a sigh. "I swear that bird has opinions about my cleaning technique."
But Skye wasn't watching Tyrande. Her golden eyes had fixed on the small pendant gleaming atop its stand - a delicate crystal orb, faintly glowing, suspended from a silver chain.
Lytavis saw the look and immediately said, "Don't even think about it."
The raven fluffed her feathers, turned her head once, twice - then dove.
"Skye!"
The shriek echoed through the hall. A flash of wings, a clink of silver, and both girls were on their feet as the bird vanished through the upper archway with the relic dangling from her beak.
They caught up to her three streets away, in the plaza near the fountain. Skye was holding court like royalty, strutting along the marble rim while a small crowd - mostly laughing apprentices and market children - watched in delight. The relic swung gleaming from her beak like some glorious prize.
"Oh no," Tyrande groaned. "She's performing."
"She's going to give me a heart attack," Lytavis muttered.
She stepped forward carefully. "Skye. Come here, love. That's not yours."
The raven blinked. Then she hopped backward, the chain glinting in the sun.
Tyrande hissed, "Say something divine! She listens when you sound like you're blessing her."
Lytavis exhaled. "Skye, by Elune's grace - don't you dare…"
The bird dropped the pendant straight into the fountain.
The splash was tiny. The aftermath was not.
Light burst across the surface of the water, curling upward in ripples of pale silver. The fountain glowed as though moonlight itself had decided to rise from the depths. The onlookers gasped; Lytavis froze. Tyrande stared, wide-eyed.
"That's not supposed to happen… right?"
"No," Lytavis whispered, "it is definitely not supposed to happen."
The glow swirled once more and subsided, leaving the water clear, calm, and faintly shimmering. The pendant rested at the bottom, gleaming serenely.
Tyrande groaned. "You're the healer. Fix it."
"I heal people, Tyrande."
"Well, heal the situation!"
By the time they fished the relic out - Lytavis with her sleeve rolled up to the elbow, Tyrande holding her cloak like a makeshift towel - the faint crystal pulse beneath the surface hadn't stopped.
"It's still glowing," Tyrande whispered.
"I noticed," Lytavis said dryly. "Let's just get it back before someone realizes it's missing."
Skye landed on the fountain's edge, fluffing herself smugly. "Caw."
"Yes," Lytavis muttered, "we're very proud of you."
They returned to the Hall of Offerings by late afternoon. The pendant went back on its stand, gleaming a touch brighter than before. Lytavis adjusted the chain until it looked untouched. Tyrande eyed it warily.
"Do you think anyone will notice?"
"Only Elune," Lytavis murmured.
As they turned to leave, a faint shimmer of silver light rippled across the ceiling - a soft arc like moonlight catching its breath.
Tyrande stopped, eyes wide. "Was that…?"
Lytavis smiled faintly. "A blessing, perhaps. Or a warning."
Skye, perched on the lintel above them, croaked once - decisively - then tucked her head beneath a wing, perfectly satisfied with her day's work.