The Watcher of Solitude

Through the stone carved streets of the high city, she moved like a flicker of

warm flame. High upon the battlements, golden eyes traced her every step

with a quiet, aching fascination. She was a stranger to these ancient walls,

yet she carried the grace of forgotten royalty. The elven commander, usually as cold

as the northern ice, felt the first thaw of winter. A moment frozen

in the shadows of the city, a memory etched forever in gold.