Storm watched the new warriors enter Odin's hall with little amusement. It was all the same. How many more would fall in battle? Was there no more to the nature of men? She snorted disdainfully as she shouldered her harp. Father always liked her to ride with the other valkyries. Humph. Maybe something would change soon.

Odin called his daughter from the shadows where he knew the child was sulking. He smiled in complete understanding. His little one was much like he was- so many questions. He hoped that she would fare better at getting her questions answered. She came and sat at his feet, a sullen expression on her lovely face. He tweaked her chin in response, "Daughter, you know the wisdom behind this. We must be ready for the last battle." He sighed wearily when she pouted at him. Storm was aptly named, he thought with grim amusement. It was time for his little swanling to leave the nest. Sensing this victory, Storm smiled impishly up at him, and he chuckled. He tugged on one of her red-gold curls, "Go on. Fly, my little swan. Come home when you wish to. Hopefully, we shall still be here."  Storm jumped up and hugged him fiercely, then ran to her mother to do the same. Odin knew he would never see his daughter again.

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Storm stood at the edge of the worlds and waited. She adjusted her hold on her precious harp, then spread her great wings one last time to soar into the mortal realms. Once grounded, she tore her wings from herself, and they disappeared in a silvery mist.  Sighing, she started on the worldpath, not noticing the boy who was following her.

"Umm, M'lady?" the squire began uncertainly. Storm turned around in surprise, eyeing the boy warily. He smiled in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner, and introduced himself, "My name is Galin. I'm from the Gwyneth Castle not far from here. Are you a bard? You'll be very welcome if you are. M'lord needs to hear new songs." Storm cocked her head to the side and considered, then deciding she had naught better to do, she agreed to accompany the lad back to the "castle" or whatever it was. Galin could scarcely believe his good fortune, and repeatedly thanked the mysterious lady, who became very amused after the fourth time. Upon nearing the castle, Storm looked at the stone monstrosity with narrowed eyes. The thing was built for defensive purposes only- any fool could see that. Drat. More war. How unamusing. The colorful banners flying atop the turrets did nothing to lighten her dour mood. Well, she would see what kind of king the man was.

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King Marc watched his squire leading a lovely woman who was carrying a harp from his perch at fourth tower window. He leaned out slowly, as to not call attention to himself so he could get a better view. Hmmm. Bards were so scarce around these parts. No one dared travel without a large accompaniment of armed guards, but here was a mere lass unguarded and unaccompanied. Mere lass? He chided himself soundly. Things were never what they seemed, and the lady probably had many a good tale to tell. His people needed the dreams a bard could spark desperately. He was suddenly interrupted from his reverie by a discrete cough, "My lord?" Marc turned to see his captain, Alasdair, a great Celtic warrior of much renown, standing by his side. Marc wordlessly pointed to the woman cautiously making her way toward the main hall. Alasdair narrowed his eyes and whispered a word of warning to his king. That woman was no ordinary mortal. His druid-trained eyes could see the wild currents of glamoury that shrouded her pale form. He could almost see what appeared to be the shadow of wings? He shook his head in wonderment. Faerie? No- not that at all. Something far older and much more dangerous.

Storm felt an ebb in the currents of power which surrounded her. So, someone was using the sight on her. Well get a good look, foolish mortal. She sent out a questing tendril of her thoughts and found the one watching her with such interest. He pulled in his awareness abruptly, which left Storm with an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Ah well.

Alasdair pulled away from the window in shock. In all of his years among the druids, he had never felt a mind so powerful... or so innocent. He would never forget the color of her eyes. What a perilous dichotomy. His lord was watching him in concern so he said, "A bard, yes. Mortal, no." Marc frowned slightly as he paced about, "Faerie?" "No, my liege. Not Faerie or Elven, she is nothing I have ever seen before." Alasdair apologized for his lack of knowledge in this matter, and Marc waved it away with mild amusement, "Well, I guess we shall just have to see what happens next, now won't we?"

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As the mass of mortals assembled in the great hall, Storm questioned her logic of coming with the boy. This could be a bad thing. Maybe she should have brought one of her sisters? No, that would only expose them to whatever dangers she now faced, which was not what she wanted for them. Well, here I am, so here I'll be.

Alasdair felt the girls indecision flickering about her. So, this was her first outing into the human realm. He should have expected as much. He smiled and Storm turned in her seat to face him as he approached her. He saw the nighttime skies in her eyes, and the tempest's fury. He thought about pulling back his awareness, but her innocent questioning of him made him decide that it would not be a good idea. He knew the risks of dancing with one of her kind, and embraced it. She laughed gently, and motioned for him to sit by her side.