Listen to the forrest.

“Look, butterflies!” a juvenile voice breaks the silence of the forrest, his eyes set on the insects. A thick beam of light shown down from a break in the thick canopy, a rare instance here in the Canolbarth forrest. A large oak stood as centerpiece to the magical place, the butterflies fluttering back and forth within the beam of warm sunlight. “Do you think they will fly away?” the young Elven boy was giddy with excitement. “I think they will remain, if you’re quiet and gentle.” the elder boy explained, his face washed with the expression of centuries old wisdom, yet youthful in a way only elves remain well into their 3rd decade. The young boy began to move from the confines of the thick dark wilderness, a slight hesitation in his step. “Ah! you must be mindful of your surrounding’s Eil-aro.” the elder boy’s hand guide’s Eil-aro, back to the shadows. “We have to be quiet and aware of what the forrest is telling us.” Eil-aro’s face scrunched together, “I don’t hear anything, Cael-wyn.”