She had woke in the dead of night with her heart pounding in her chest. The world around her was nearly silent except for the gentle sounds of slumber from her companion. Marvel rose with the clarity one only received after such a sudden awakening. The young seer tiptoed her way out of the den carefully to avoid disturbing anyone else. On her way out, she grabbed the only heirloom she had from the time before she joined the Coven of the Pale Raven. A scarf, deep purple patterned with circular lines, that was soft to the touch and heavy. It was comforting, familiar, something to ground her to the world around her when her thoughts always tempted her to drift away.
Marvel could not shake off her dream, and though the dream itself was vague she could not forget the imagery of pale pink butterfly wings. It could mean nothing, but it also could mean something, and as Marvel grew older she knew it was foolhardy to shrug off anything odd. Her powers were growing, and she was no longer the young pup who refused to acknowledge her abilities. They were a part of her that she could no longer avoid.
She left the safety of the Coven and wandered into the forest. Dawn crept over the land, chasing the dark blue tones of night away with strokes of pink and orange across the sky. It was still too early for the world to wake, and so the creatures of the day still laid curled up in the hollows of trees or in the underbrush. The thin layer of snow on the ground consumed all sound, so that even as she walked she could not hear the steps she took. In her younger days this would have set her on edge. Not anymore.
Now she was just chasing a dream.