The forest breathed. Not with the rustle of leaves or the sigh of wind through ancient pines, but with a deeper, older rhythm. A pulse felt in the marrow, a vibration humming through the roots that cradled the village of Elderglen like a child in a mossy cradle. To most, it was just the wind, the creak of wood, the song of birds. To Elara, it was a symphony only she could hear, a language of sighs and groans and whispers that spoke of the land's slow, deep sorrow.
The forest breathed. Not with the rustle of leaves or the sigh of wind through ancient pines, but with a deeper, older rhythm. A pulse felt in the marrow, a vibration humming through the roots that cradled the village of Elderglen like a child in a mossy cradle. To most, it was just the wind, the creak of wood, the song of birds. To Elara, it was a symphony only she could hear, a language of sighs and groans and whispers that spoke of the land's slow, deep sorrow.