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There is a silence, an anonymous hush resting over the darkness, and all is black but for a sleepy glow, its' source unknown. The eternal night is pure; no silver glossed moon in sight and not a star on the indistinguishable horizon. There is no line between land and sky, no definite break or visible difference. All is simply black.
And yet . . . a whoosh scatters the silence, its' delicate tones penetrating the shaded sky like a blunt knife; the first noise to be sounded in the unborn world of Tale. Then, as if from beneath a raven's wing, a young woman emerged; her skin as smooth and bright as mother of pearl, and hair almost invisible against the mirrored blackness of her surroundings, but for an auburn strip braided and entwined with forest leaves. She wore a coal leather cape which trailed soundlessly on the shadowed ground behind her, her dress was black and also leather, just reaching her knees and her deer skin boots emitted nothing more than a whisper as she softly trod. An oak wood pack hung at her shoulder, beautifully carved, the arrows it held perfectly fletched with eagle owl feathers and the silver birch wood bow flawlessly balanced.
The woman's stance showed immense self-control and strength; for even though she walked with elegance, she showed all the signs of a hunter: the slow, steady paces, the intelligent eyes eager for knowledge and a strong bow hand perfect for whipping out a bow and arrow at a seconds notice. However, on her right hand she wore a thick, deer skin glove that reached to her elbow, it was scarred and well worn with stiff brown veins at the joints.
Silently, she slipped off the glove and placed it in her pack; she then raised her hands to her mouth and called three times. Suddenly, with another whoosh, a great pair of wings swept through the night soaring higher and higher; radiating strength and power as the vast bird began to circle over the upturned head of the female hunter. Her mouth began to form unknown words, repeating them again and again in a strange chant. At each word, the bird swooped lower and the hunter placed the deer hide glove back on her right hand. Finally, the bird landed, ruffling ochre feathers and gazing around with bright vivid eyes, his tapered talons vigorously gripping the firm hide mitten.
The woman resumed her careful ambling, making sure to keep her gloved hand aloft; she regarded the owl lovingly, her free hand sweeping through his glossy breast feathers and her warm green eyes captured by his.
"Koran, it is time to bring life to Tale," she whispered, gently to her companion.
No sooner had the words left his masters' lips, did Koran take to the air with one great pulse of his powerful wings. The air raced between his feathers as he gained height and he ducked and dived with the sudden wind, his eyes open wide to the rushing zephyr. In the sky he felt at home; a lone predator searching for his prey, but not tonight, tonight they were somewhere new (he and his master), tonight they had a duty. Koran swerved to the right and made ready for his part.