Katsania looked up at the sky, watching the clouds darken. She could smell the storm as it approached. Wrapping her cloak around her lithe form, she began the descent to the small village below. She could hear the people scurrying around, trying to lash down anything that might be able to move. The storm would be a bad one.
A peal of thunder shook the ground, followed closely by several bolts of chained lightning. The air all around became charged with static electricity. The first drops of cold rain began to fall, whipped about by the strengthening wind.
The sky was nearly black by the time Katsania reached the village. Most of the people had already taken shelter. A few brave souls still darted from place to place, making last minute preparations to their homes and shops. Suddenly the clouds let loose with a furious deluge of rain, closely followed by tiny chips of ice. The wind began to pick up, ripping across the land.

Katsania just made it to her door when the chips of ice became chunks the size of a child's fist. Lighting a candle on the table by the door, she removed her sodden cloak and hung it over the chair to dry. She shook out her long raven hair, letting it fall loosely down her back. The sound of the rain outside began to ease, and she had not heard the thunder for a few minutes. The wind, too, seemed to be quieting.
Pulling a book down from the shelf, she sat at the table and began to leaf through it. After a few moments she found the passage she had been seeking. Reading it quickly, she committed the information to memory, and then replaced the book on the shelf.
Next to the shelf stood a long wooden staff, smoothed by years of use. The top was ornamented with a large smoky crystal. Two large white feathers hung suspended from beaded leather strips just below it. As she grabbed the staff, the crystal began to glow softly. She turned toward the door, just as everything went silent outside. There was not much time left.
Katsania threw open the door and walked out into the storm. The sky above the village had just begun to turn a sickly greenish-gray, and the clouds appeared to boil. Planting the staff firmly in front of her, she took a deep breath and centered herself, feeling herself connect to the earth through the staff. She prepared to recite the words she had taken from the book. As she breathed the first word, a tendril began to descend from the sky, twisting its way to the ground. The winds

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