Rejaní's voice echoed throughout the cavern as he told of his creation, and the purpose given to him by Kaní, and Gaïa herself. Dylin could never be certain of how many hours it took to listen to the tale he later transcribed, but it appeared as if time itself had ceased to matter in that cavern in the rock.
The blades of centuries passed and not yet here glistened in the firelight, and candles guttered on shelves carved into the walls themselves. Rejaní began taking bundles of herbs not even Dae-rí could name from hidden coves in the walls, adding the stems of one, the flowers of another, and various powders and potions into a small copper kettle over the flickering flame in the recessed hole in the cave floor.