Rescued

The thousand years of history loosened its grip on Islana and she came to. The Ascendant stood there with his staff in hand, wound on his shoulder.

Her mind was still a little foggy as emerald eyes went between the man in the ground and the one holding the staff.

Images flashed some of the visions which had found their way to the redhead's mind. Visions of her past and the past of those who have carried the title Prophetess through time.

Then came the images of what had just happened here, in the temple. The man on the ground coming for the young witch, wanting her dead. The Ascendant saved her.

While it all seemed hazy, almost as if it had occurred in a dream. It was what had happened, Islana was aware of that, somehow.

Very quietly, raspy, almost a whisper was all that was left of the young woman's voice as she found the only words that her mind would allow to be given to the Ascendant.

"Thank you."

It didn't seem like enough, but anything more would have to wait.