The head of the monestary winced in fearful expectation as two well dressed and very angry parents, marched their way up the steps. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, the bald man stepped out to greet them. 

"Where is our daughter?" the father, and land lord of all the surrounding towns, demanded. His brown eyes roved suspiciously over the building, as if they had sealed her up inside a wall. 

Forcing himself not to back away, the monk said politely, "Perhaps we should step inside to discuss this further. I have a pot of mint tea already waiting." 

Glaring, the man and his wife stalked inside, noses up. When their backs were to him, the bald man grimaced. 

"This won't be easy to explain," he muttered, stepping inside and closing the heavy oak door behind him. 

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"Where are we going again?" Laren asked nervously, glancing out the carriage window. 

They had ridden for hours, the lush summer fields fading into deep woods. The carriage was driven by an ancient leather skinned man, and an orange robed man sat across the carriage from her. A large hood hid his face, and his dark skinned hands lay folded neatly on his lap.

"To the school of pyromancy, my lady," came the smooth reply. 

"Pyromancy... Pyromancy," she said thoughtfully. "Isn't that a kind of.. bonfire or something?" 

A soft chuckle emenated from under the hood. "I suppose, in essence, that's correct. Though a better definition would be the study and practice of flame summoning. There are other such arts, power over ice and storm being other prominent practices."

Laren digested that for a moment, idly stroking the head of the orange snake. 

"I think I've heard of that... but I've never heard anything about a school that teaches it." 

The man raised his head slightly, and the single lit candle illuminated his strong chin and jawline. "Well, I would hope not. It is a closely guarded secret, and not one every person can, or should be, trusted with."

"But I'm going there?" Laren fired back, wanting to keep the information going. 

A nod. 

"But what did my parents say? Do they even know that I'm going?" she asked, feeling both elated and guilty to be leaving them. 

"The monestary promised that they would inform your family," she man said softly. He then fell back into quiet reverie, watching the candle flame.

Laren brushed her hair off her face, staring out the window again. 

The forest was deep and dark, clicking, whistling, and chirping thoughtfully to itself. The thick trees positioned around the road filtered the sunlight into strange golden shafts, which pieced through the dark air. A hot wind, heavy with the smell of plants and soil, lifted her red hair as she looked outward. 

These woods seemed to be full of a strange, ancient wisdom. A slow, thoughtful atmosphere, undisturbed by industrialization, smoky air, or towns. Old and ponderous, it felt as if nothing had changed in its depths for centuries. 

Laren glanced over at her robed escort. He turned to look at her, silent and thoughtful as the woods around them.