She felt.
It was cold. It was dark. The air was still.
It was as if the earth was holding its breath,
Waiting anxiously for a new day to dawn,
Not even daring to think until daybreak.
Nothing stirred; even the wind forgot to move.
Then suddenly, a single ray of golden light shone through the cloud-spat sky.
She watched.
Lingering lazily in the last moments of twilight,
Fireflies danced over the murky water,
Knowing that their time of reign would soon be over.
A lone dragonfly paused momentarily,
Suspended in the quiet Matope air
Before zipping off again in the blink of an eye.
She knew.
This was her time.
It had always been her time, it still was, and always would be.
In the early hours of dawn, of the First Light,
When the world was caught between night and day,
She had always felt more awake, more alive
And now, this would be where she would lie.
She slept.
There was no disquiet, no fear.
A restful peace came upon her and settled deep within her heart,
It flowed through her veins and she smiled slowly.
One last movement before she reached freedom,
One last course before the swamp awoke and the silence broke,
One last journey before the chaos and din of Morningtide.
