Elsa, daughter of the alphas of Drekistone, had been ill for some time - fatigue, chills and a fever, and, more recently, she was unable to keep food in her stomach. This was very bad for Elsa - she was hungry all the time, but was never able to keep down a meal. She was wasting away. Nothing could help. And, finally, she collapsed one summer day.
Too weak to climb to her feet, she lay with no energy. Elsa’s voice called, “Help! Please - Mother, Syrax -” She could barely speak. “Daddy?” She couldn’t abide the worried looks from her family, or her half-sister Andreja’s constant demands to try an herb that might help. Elsa was normally meek, but her constant hungry ache had left her irritable, and she didn’t want some stupid herb! She wanted food, comfort, love - warmth. She had been unable to keep water down for the past week.
She clawed at the rocky, gravelly dirt feebly. “Andreja, help . . .” Elsa could barely whisper - her throat was dry, and she was weak. The poor Starling princess with firefly wings and rabbit ears tried to croak out something else, but it never left her mouth. She closed her eyes, feeling only cold despite the simmering heat of summer, and let it carry her away.

“Someone like you . . . and all you know, and how you speak . . .”