Thrum

Elena liked to think she could have been a heron.

When she closed her eyes, took a breath, and the let the sunlight's warmth seep into her skin like honey, she imagined that the land had a magic all its own. Dandelion seeds clung to her damp robes, pine tree branches croaked in the breeze, and broken grass blades stuck to her calves—to her ankles, to her toes; nature held tight even as she walked.

The medallion swept across her neck, and idly, Elena gripped it in her hands momentarily, feeling the world at her fingertips as it began to thrum, as if, in this forest, it yearned for more of what Lilia had once inhabited. As if, it sensed everything she saw and wanted it.

Can't you feel it? she'd asked Greil as the wind rustled by, but he'd only watched in quiet curiosity, expression solemn as she abruptly stumbled to a stop beneath a giant fir, the medallion swinging by its chain.

Not really. Should I?

It thrummed against her heart, whispering. Elena clapped her hand over it soothingly, stroking the finely engraved symbols even as she noticed her fantasy slowly fading around her. The galdrar reverberated in her mind, spreading out like an echo, and soon all she could hear was Lilia's voice in her head, urging her to grant the dark god's cries, urging her to throw her head back and sing.

Elena? Greil had questioned, voice low, and the only thing that had compelled her to answer was his careful hold on her arm.