The sky stretched endlessly above the rolling hills, a soft blue canvas dotted with clouds that drifted lazily in the warm afternoon breeze. Beneath the shade of an ancient oak, nestled in the heart of a quiet meadow, sat Elowen, an elf of the Silverwood, her long silver hair gleaming in the sunlight as it caught in the gentle breeze. The meadow was alive with wildflowers—daisies, buttercups, and delicate bluebells—all swaying in harmony with the wind, as if dancing to the melody of the earth itself.
Elowen's pale fingers held an old book, its pages yellowed with age, the leather binding worn smooth from countless years of being passed from hand to hand. This tome had been in her family for generations, a collection of stories, wisdom, and secrets from the ancient elven houses. Today, however, Elowen wasn't reading to seek knowledge or magic; she was here for a different reason—a deeper one.
She had always found solace in the quiet of the meadow, far from the bustling life of her village. Today, as she sat beneath the oak, the sun filtering through the leaves above, her thoughts wandered back to the stories of her ancestors. Each story was a reminder of who she was, where she came from, and the magic that pulsed through her veins. But today, she wasn’t reading about spells or ancient battles. Instead, she was reading about love—lost and found, eternal and fleeting.
♪ The Soul of Wind
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