Thalanir guided Lira to the little house nestled beneath the great roots of the tree village. It was quiet and warm, built from smooth wood and woven vines, with soft moss gathered for bedding. She curled up under the hanging canopy of leaves, the scent of the forest wrapping around her like a lullaby. Sleep came quickly.
When morning arrived, a soft golden light filtered through the lattice of trees above. Outside, the village was already alive. Elven kind moved gracefully through the branches and pathways, gathering morning dew in glassy leaf-cups and plucking fresh blossoms that had bloomed with the sunrise. The air was cool, crisp, and filled with birdsong.
Lira stepped out, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Therin was already outside, stretching with a soft groan, his hair still a mess from sleep. Many of the elves smiled at Lira as she passed, some nodding, some offering small petals or herbs in quiet farewell.
