This past month, some of us heard whispers in the wind. These whispers
were angry, harsh. The voice tried to be heard, yet its words were
unknown. Perhaps in a tongue long forgotten.

I felt the coldness, and as others, I reached out to others, when Rasca
came to me. Suddenly, with certainty, Rasca says to Anhir sis! With just
a bit of detour, we made our way to Anhir, to find the High Mother,
Pah'ele. She seemed to almost be waiting for us. We spoke of these
whispers, and were surprised to find out it was not she who had spoken.

The High Mother too had heard these whispers, and had a story to tell.
She began a story that happened so very long ago, so forgotten, of "The
Troubler and Abzhirek".
This story should be heard by all, and given time it will be made
available to all, please be patient on that. I feel it is only the
beginning of relearning the many things forgotten. As the High Mother
told the story, others who had heard the whispers, and others who sought
to help came. Near the end of the story, we learned who the whispers
belonged to, though no name can be spoken.

There has been a great deal of anger, hatred and wrath in our lands as
of late. It is possible the Old Spirits felt this and it has drawn them
to come forth. They are not happy with being forgotten, and those of us
who have sworn to help them find their place amongst us mere mortals,
ask that all be aware, and know you may be seeing things you have never
seen before. Do not ignore these, seek out what it is, find someone who
can help if needed. Old writings, scrolls, books...omens or signs.
Nothing should be taken for granted.

I, as do others intend to do everything we can to help the Old Spirits
have their place, and in doing so, I hope they will find some peace.
Perhaps those of us so wrapped up in the hatred, should also try to look
beyond and see that there is things in this world that shouldn't be
taken for granted, and that there are more important deeds to be done.


As a songbird sang, I was both taken in by its beauty, and saddened by
its voice. I fear we all will have a day of reckoning if we choose to
ignore that which came before us, it has grown weary with being
forgotten.

Ravven Anar


Penned by my hand on the 13th of Artificium, in the year 418 AD.