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[sunbaked_baker]

It is the heart of summer, and the days are long. The sun sets late, and the nights are pleasantly warm.

At the moment, this particular day is finally relinquishing its grasp, the half-light of evening settling in, turning the world varying depths of grey.

Yet there is still a light out in the forest. Out past the baseball diamond, in a clearing where a great, thirty-foot wide circle of arcane symbols has been burned into the ground, Sunshine is practicing.

Three figures made of animate soil and water struggle with her. They are faster than she, but Sunshine has her magic. Has her knife in hand, beginning to glow as the daylight fades around her. Has her glimmering network of light set into her skin and hair, awake and alert and pulling from the sun that has already disappeared from the horizon. Has her silver and amber ring on its cord about her neck, gleaming. Her semi-transparent shielding spell appearing and disappearing in a ghostly golden light. Each strike by the figures of magically-animate soil and water she blocks, quick as thought, until she moves to lets one through so she can strike at its heart, in and up into where the chest would be.

The object of this exercise is to stay dry. Stay clean.

Except for her right hand and arm.

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[vojvode]

He'd slept for a long while this time. Deep in the comfort of the earth, held in the roots of the oldest oaks on the mountain, cradled in the black loam, a pillow of granite for his head.

He'd awakened, and fed, on the beasts of the land. Boar and stag, and other strange creatures. It was good to relinquish the burden of pretending to be human for awhile. But soon, his soul ached for the sound of voices, for laughter and conversation, for warmth and light.

The wind shifted and he caught her scent, the delicate scent of cinnamon and sweetness. And something else.

Magic. Sweat. Endorphins.

He changed, swift as breathing, flowing through the trees like water, mist the colour of the emerald sea crossing the distance between them, racing the sunset.

He caught himself short at the edge of the clearing, the sigils making his senses thrum in warning. His body reformed, bone, muscle, armor, sword, without thought. Instinct drew the form from distant memory.

But he still stood, frozen at the edge of the clearing, watching her move.

She was closer to the visage of his dreams than ever before. Power swirled around and through her, and she was at home with it. It was a stunning sight to behold.