Sylwen's fingers tightened subtly against the carved armrest of her throne. "We would have felt this if the seals were truly breaking."
"You are feeling it," Lindarion said evenly. "You simply do not recognize the tremors yet. The pulse of mana through the forest is unstable, the streams shift and slow. It begins subtlely. Then the air thickens. Then the roots quiver."
There was silence.
One of the human commanders, General Arven, cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but if the Tree falters, what of the forests beyond? Wouldn't Lorienya itself—"
Vaelthorn raised a hand. "Peace, General." His gaze never left Lindarion. "What do you propose, Prince of Eldorath?"
Lindarion's golden eyes gleamed faintly in the chamber's light. "We must scout the southern reaches beyond the emerald valleys. The Tree's guardian named that place as the source of the shift. Something there draws mana unnaturally, feeding, perhaps. Draining."
