Each night the songs started. Soft, gentle, soothing. These songs eased the tired Wizard and hir dragon friend to sleep, along with the gentle purring cat in the Wizard's lap. -- The New Guy
[AN: Mature Elves don't sleep. They meditate.]
The world is large, and full of perils. One would expect that from a world made for Dragons. What's less expected is the occasional island of succour.
This is the Singing Forest. Legend says a great hero once placed a piece of Nanogh into the mortal world, so people could ease their hearts and fears. Legend has a lot of explanations for things, few of them true.
"This used to be a well," said Wraithvine. "Now it's a sanctuary of healing and rest. We need it."
"Aye," sighed Bibrid. "Is there anyone in the area?"
"Not for miles. You can be yourself, here." Wraithvine let Lilbit down to sniff the area and bat at leaves. "That's the purpose of this place, now."
Bibrid yawned, stretched, and stretched into a gigantic silver Dragon. He settled into a mossy hollow with a sigh. "I needed that..."
"We both needed this," Wraithvine agreed. "I haven't been here since the emergence of Humans. There's no trace of the temple, nor the city..." Ze paused to watch the fireflies playing with the Sprites. "All right. One trace."
The singing came from everywhere and nowhere, when someone was still enough to hear it. It was part of the lingering magic of this place. What once was the Well of Magic, before a god hatched to become a better system.
Wraithvine settled hirself against a comfortable hillock and let hir body relax. Idly watching Lilbit chittering at the Sprites. She eventually gave up and settled herself on hir lap. Purring fit to rival thunder.
And with that, Wraithvine let hirself drift into a restful trance.
Exactly what they needed between the emergencies they kept finding.
[Photo by Amit Pritam on Unsplash]
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