#*caden

A serenaded disquietude blanketed the city of fern during the high noon. Beneath, a waterfall cascaded gently along the mountainside, refracting light upon the Ivory Wall. Naught could be heard but the rustling of leaves as a brisk breeze rumble-tumbled through. It wafted through the blonde ringlets around Thelandria’s face, and she welcomed nature’s subtle graze.

Athoria was in the midst of dishonorable peace. Regardless of the implication, the attos sustained an unshakably averse disposition to a war sparked by a man’s hunger for power. She decided long ago, alongside Calliope, Caunwen and Idhrenniel to interfere not in the war of men. 

                       However, the city’s defenses had to hold.

Thelandria flitted, gracefully, along the smooth pavement descending toward the Coven of the Goddess. There, she could feel serenity as if it were tangible ——— she could feel magick quickening in the air itself like pulsating waves beneath a full moon. Fern was ripe with magick, and this brought happiness to the attos beyond measure, for the world they inhabited had yet to succumb to a darkness she did not understand. With time such darkness will continue to encroach upon the light, but Thelandria would see the elves prevail, survive, and endure.

                       As they have since beginning-less time.

She knelt over the pond, dipping her hand in to cup the water when something quivered out of turn. Gently; unhurriedly, alerted aquamarines peered in the direction whence the disturbance came. A dark form lay there, moving about, seemingly ignorant of her presence. In curiosity, the likes of which haven't stupefied the elf for many a year, Thelandria approached. Silent.