She rode on the gentle caress of her brother breezes, the tiniest variance in direction rocking her non-corporeal form. Lilith could, of course, control them, the gusts of wind, but sometimes it was relaxing to just let go and follow the path of her brothers decided.

She became distressed, something was amiss. There was an intruder on her pathway; something that didn’t belong, something that was powerful. It called her name, demanded that she return to the earth. “לילית,” it said, her true name spread across the atmosphere, forcing her to obey.

She crafted a downdraft out of her brothers and descended, curiousity filling the void of her being. Only the Old Ones knew her true name and dared to use it. Who would she find?

Expectations dashed, she reached the ground to discover nothing of note. None of the Old Ones were here.

A small plant broke thru the soft earth, rapidly rising to meet the sun. She noted it and knew — knew — what it meant: the burning bush was to be reborn, Metatron sought an audience.