The Ariakan garden was quiet that morning, filled only with the hum of bees and the rustle of drying herbs. Lytavis and Tyrande were meant to be helping Zoya and Elise string herbs for winter, but Skye had other plans.
The raven swooped low from the wall, wings flashing like ink in sunlight, and dropped something directly into Tyrande's basket.
Tyrande scowled. "If that's another worm, I'm not touching it."
Lytavis leaned closer. "It's paper." She smoothed the scrap out across her palm. The ink was blurred in places, but a few words stood out clearly enough to stop her breath.
Help… trapped… garden gate…
She looked up sharply. "Someone's in trouble."
Tyrande's skepticism was immediate. "Or someone's lost their shopping list."
But Lytavis's expression had already gone serious. "No. Look at Skye - she wants us to follow."
The raven gave a triumphant caw, hopping from foot to foot as though to say well, come on then.
"Fine," Tyrande muttered, dusting off her skirts. "But if this ends with us rescuing a cabbage, I'm blaming you."
Skye led them on what could only be described as a tour of her favorite haunts.
First, the bakery, where the bird perched proudly on the windowsill until the baker's apprentice tossed her a crumb of honey bread.
Next, the café, where Skye landed on a table and neatly stole a biscuit while the waitress shrieked.
Then, inevitably, the market, where half the merchants called greetings and offered her shiny trinkets.
By the time they reached the Temple quarter, Tyrande was certain they were on a wild goose chase. "Your raven's leading us straight through her breakfast route."
Lytavis, still determined, said, "She's leading us somewhere. We just haven't seen it yet."
The "somewhere" turned out to be a quiet bench overlooking the canal, half hidden by flowering shrubs. The air smelled of lilac and river mist.
Skye landed on the bench back, ruffling her feathers smugly.
Lytavis frowned - and then noticed a glint beneath the shrub. She knelt and drew out a small, leather-bound book, its cover lightly dusty but still elegant, the silver title faintly legible:
Forbidden Echoes.
Tyrande leaned in. "That's ominous."
Lytavis brushed off the dirt and opened it carefully. The handwriting on the inner page matched the scrap of parchment exactly. She read the first intact line aloud:
"Help me, I am trapped in a loveless life. Meet me by the garden gate before noon, where freedom waits in his arms."
They both froze.
"That's not a cry for help," Tyrande said faintly.
"No," Lytavis murmured, eyes widening, "it's… literature."
A beat of silence - and then both girls broke into helpless laughter. Tyrande clutched her stomach; Lytavis wiped tears from her eyes.
Skye croaked, utterly pleased with herself.
When the laughter finally subsided, Lytavis turned the book over. Inside the front cover was a name, written in tidy script: P. Moonweaver.
"Do you know who that is?" Tyrande asked.
Lytavis shook her head. "No. But clearly someone with feelings."
"Maybe it's one of the Sisters." Tyrande grinned. "Imagine that!"
They were still speculating when footsteps sounded on the path.
Sister Perla appeared, calm as ever, walking toward the bench. The girls exchanged a horrified glance and dove behind the hedge.
"She's a P," Lytavis whispered.
"She's the P," Tyrande whispered back.
They watched as Perla paused by the bench, looked around, then crouched to search beneath the shrub. She parted the leaves carefully, as though expecting something to be there.
Lytavis whispered, "She's looking for it."
Tyrande whispered back, "And we're holding it."
Perla straightened, clearly about to give up.
Tyrande took one deep, steadying breath, stepped from behind the hedge, and held up the book. "Sister Perla? Is this what you're looking for?"
Perla regarded her without the faintest hint of embarrassment. "Yes," she said evenly, taking the book. "It is. I would appreciate it remaining between us."
Tyrande nodded mutely.
"Of course," Lytavis added quickly from behind the hedge.
Perla brushed a leaf from the cover, tucked the book under her arm, and walked away without another word.
As soon as she was out of sight, Tyrande collapsed against the hedge, laughing until she cried. "She didn't even blink!"
Lytavis wheezed. "No shame, no fear - she's unstoppable."
Skye croaked in agreement, fluttering to perch between them like a smug little witness.
"Next time," Tyrande said, wiping her eyes, "we're ignoring every scrap of paper that bird brings us."
Lytavis smiled, sunlight catching in her hair. "You say that now."
And Skye, as if to prove her point, took off into the bright Suramar sky - already plotting her next great adventure.