Lyra half-floated, half tripped into the clearing. The thick smell of burnt pines wafted against her on the breeze, leaving a light dusting of ashes on her hair as she muttered under her breath, half choking on the thick clouds of dust which obscured most sunlight. I doubt Lyra even noticed the few small fires still burning on the surviving trees. Goosebumps rose on her limbs as she finished her summoning, wondering who was wating for her here, the challenge call had been so vague. Well, better to hide for the element of surprise. She leapt lightly into a charred and still burning Spruce a little ways of the slightly sloped mountain side, settling between the waxy needles and licking orange flames. The fire almost burned her as Lyra screwed up her eyes and began willing herself to blend, hide, conceal, until her skin and clothing were a deep, wooden brown. The tips of her wings began to spark and sputter, working downwards until each wing was another small flame beside the larger original. Long strands of dirty brown hair twisted and prickled until each was a clump of pale green needles. She tensed and froze, waiting with baited breath for the arrival.