Dragon-riding bandits attack her village, intent on dragging away the women. Instead, she is whisked away from everything she holds dear. Maquia watches them in a secret midnight tryst, lit by the firefly-like pollen of magical flowers, and wishes for such a life for herself. She’s not as assertive or brave as Leilia, the girl she idolises, but that probably explains why Leilia, not her, has attracted the attention of Clear, a local boy. Maquia weaves at her loom she dyes the Hibiol cloth she hangs the sheets to dry in the tall halls of her people, the elfin Iolf race.
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