Naiobe dreams of fire. Every night since her trip to Malikai's cave, she has dreamt of hot, roaring, hungry, intense fire. It burns through everything it touches, burning Naiobe and anyone else in her dream. It burns the castle, the countryside and ... sometimes she dreams that it burns the world. It<em>is</em>the world. In her dreams, it's all that she knows.<br/><br/>The sunshine is always a surprise when she wakes from those dreams. It always seems so washed out now, dim and watery and inadequate. Still, she squints a little as she blinks her eyes open, stretching languorously in her bed. She knows her dryad will be waiting for her. She knows that her pet will stay there for hours if Naiobe tells her to. The dryad is so special, too precious to simply use up in a night and throw away like any other plaything. Naiobe lay there for a moment, letting the anticipation of their shared morning ritual build in her. She loves mornings.<br/><br/>Sitting up, she slides out of bed, her nightgown trailing behind her with nary a whisper. Depending on her mood, she sometimes forgoes the nightgown, but last night was slightly cold. Her small fingers close around the hilt of the proffered knife, and she uses the other hand to stroke the forearm of her dryad. "Good morning, my lovely," she greets softly, before turning away with the knife. "I want you on hands and knees today, dryad. Not once are you to stand upright. You're so pretty when you scramble." She smiles and pads toward the tree, knowing the dryad will follow. Like the dryad before her, she strokes the bark, running her fingers over the carven mark in the trunk. Blade in hand, she waits for the dryad to join her...