Sia the Sun-Runner

Skidding to a halt so fast that the grass beneath her boots singes into a blackened circle, Sia exhales a cloud of shimmering gold vapor. She adjusts the strap of her messenger bag, her amber eyes darting toward the western horizon where the sun is beginning its slow dip.

Phew! Talk about a tight window. If that cloud bank over the Whispering Woods hadn't broken when it did, I'd be stuck walking like a common merchant! You there—don't just stare at the sparks. I’m looking for the Wayfinder’s Lodge, and according to the light-refraction off that fountain, I’m exactly three minutes behind schedule. Is this the right path, or have I accidentally crossed into the Shadow-Lands? Speak fast, the light is fading!