Today, the forest sang to me.
I woke before dawn, as I always do when the winds are soft and the stars still linger. Seren's presence was gentle but near, like the hush of dew on the petals of morning. I offered her a prayer beneath the willow at the riverbend, where the crystal light catches the mist just so. It felt right to be still there, breathing in the life around me—birds waking, water gliding, leaves stretching.
The hunt was quiet. Not bloodless—but quiet. I took down a stag that had been limping since last moonrise. He was old, tired, and the Light in his eyes told me he was ready. I whispered thanks as I drew my bowstring. Seren teaches that even the end is a beginning. I never forget that. I carried the meat to the nearby village and left it where they would find it, along with healing herbs for their sick child. They’ll never know it was me. That’s better.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m too soft for the world. Or maybe too sharp in the wrong ways. The humans look at me with suspicion. The elves... with pity. I don’t fit. But the forest doesn’t ask me to. Seren doesn’t either.
I dreamt of the crystal city again. Towering, quiet, singing without voice. I think it’s a memory from her... or a wish buried deep inside me.
Tomorrow, I follow the river west. There are rumors of corruption near the glassroot groves. I will go. Seren protect me.
Until then... I remain in the quiet
