"We can ask them later, sister," said the tomboyish Dryad as she thrust her hands forward. "When they're bound and harmless. Grass bind them."
The grass around Morne sprang into motion, wrapping around his ankles and thighs and rooting him to the spot.
"You're right," the long-haired Dryad said, her own hands joining together. "The vast eye."
Morne tensed, ready for an attack, but her target wasn't him.
Essenla experienced a sense of nauseating vertigo as her vision warped. Suddenly things that were close felt far away, and what made it worse was that there didn't seem to be a consistent pattern.
When she looked at her fingers, even though they should have been the same distance away from her face, one looked like it was near the ground and another felt like it was only a few inches further away.
