Threats to the multiverse seem so distant in the one of the few unscathed forests of Zendikar. The trees stand in defiance of the wastes all around.
Nissa sits with her eyes closed, a head in her lap, her thoughts drifting.
She maps every leyline, every string she can pluck.
She feels the rawness of the Roil, remembers how to soothe and provoke it.
She knows the plane’s very soul, and she shares her own.
She slowly strokes another finger down the side of Chandra’s neck, feeling her ever so slightly shiver.
Tonight, the Roil rests, and so does she.