The sun cries the moon whispers a quiet storm

Instead she led and inspired, bolstering the faith of countless humans, that faith in turn bolstering the wards and charms humanity used as protection from the predations of evil. She was not meant to fight every monster, to stop every evil. With each passing year, the purpose of her existence had unfolded in crystalline beauty. And over time, Avacyn's understanding of the word grew, became more nuanced. And the images of the mortals in all their shapes and sizes, their humanity defined by their frailty and their devotion. Each one seared into Avacyn's mind, into her very identity, as a threat to be fought and scoured. A flash of a world draped in autumn and blood, and the numerous predators poised to ravage it. Even now, thinking of it triggered the cascade of images that had accompanied her first moments of existence. Though she heard thousands of prayers throughout the world, she rarely had time to address them individually.ДЇrom the beginning of Avacyn's existence had been the word PROTECT. Avacyn soared above the mountaintops and swooped down to the south toward Gavony. Avacyn hear me! My child! My child! Please! My Avacyn! Avacyn focused on the prayer, on the woman sending it to her, and saw an image of the woman running and sobbing in the middle of a large meadow. Help me! A panicked prayer broke through the normal murmurs.

But over time the number of prayers grew, and they became more direct, more beseeching.

From the briefest moments after her awakening, the prayers were there. The prayers were always present, a constant insistence in the back of her mind. She appreciated the solitude, the purity of wide space with nothing for company but the crackling ice, the whistling wind, and the whispers of prayers. Thick frost covered every surface, permitting no life to abide. It was one of her favorite retreats, a desolate valley in the highest mountain passes in southern Stensia. She hovered in the thin cold air, air so thin her wings would have been insufficient to keep her aloft without the aid of power. Avacyn, Angel of Hope | Art by Jason Chan

The sun cries the moon whispers a quiet storm