Perhaps this puppet had survived from Cese times. Crone thought about that. Unlikely.
Magic bloomed on the plain below, then faded. A small magical form scampered from the spot, weaving as it ran. Here, thought Crone, lie the answers to my questions. Destroy my younglings, will you? Would you so easily disdain Crone?
She crooked her wings and dropped. The air whistled around her. She raised a penumbra of protective magic that encapsulated her just as the small figure ceased its march and looked up. Faintly, Crone heard a manic laugh rise up to meet her, then the puppet gestured.
The power that engulfed Crone was Iowri;cse, far beyond anything she anticipated. Her defences held but she found herself buffeted, as if fists punched her from every direction. She cried out in pain, spinning as she fell. It took all her strength and will to; MM out her battered wings and catch a rising current of air. She voiced an outraged, alarmed shriek she climbed higher into the night sky. A tffice down revealed that the puppet had returned once again to its Warren, for nothing magical was visible.
“Aye.” She sighed. “What a price to pay for knowledge! Elder Warrren indeed, the eldest of them all. Who plays with Chaos? Crone knows naught. All things are gathering, %.L=.- here.” She found another stream of wind and angled south. This was something Anomander Rake must know of, never mind Caladan The "110 instructions that the Ti And? lord be kept ignorant of almost 4-i;;&~thing. Rake was good more than Brood credited him. VMMM Met, for one.” Crone laugh “And death. Good at death!”
She picked up speed, so did not notice the, — dead smudge on the plain below her, nor the woman camped in its centre. There was no me there to speak of, in any case.
Adjunct Lorn squatted by her bedroll, her eyes scanning the night sky. “Tool, was all that connected to what we witnessed two nights ago?”
The T'lan Imass shook his head. “I think — sro-t, Adjunct. If anything, concerns me more. It is sorcery, and it 1wres the barrier I have around us.”
“How?” she asked quietly.
“There is only one possibility, Adjunct. It is Eldering, a lost Warren ages past, returned to us. Whoever its wielder might be, we must assume it tracks us, with purpose.”
Lorn straightened wearily, then stretched her back, feeling her vertebrae pop. “Is its flavour Shadowthrone's?”