There was a certain scent in the air around this time of year. One of dust and sun-warm soil, of flowers slowly wilting in the sweltering heat, of new death and old greenery. The water in the small lakes and ponds was lukewarm and tasted stale of minerals and the tongues of all other creatures who had stopped for a drink. And, as a dreary summers rain clouded the sky and soaked the creatures in warm curtains of crystal beads, the steaming earth freed even more nuances into the air. Of rocks and roots, leaves fallen and rotting from autumns passed, of whitening bones and the sweet, rich tartness of apples not yet ripened in the trees.

The patter of water upon leaves sounded like music in the deafening silence, a pressure threatening to blow the eardrums of those who listened too carefully now released, made harmless by the constant, endless drizzle. It was a symphony in water and every dust, dry patch of earth, each parched plant and strand of grass seemed to immediately drink up every last drop that fell on the ground. It was the perfect sort of shower to fall now, before the coming of Orangemoon and the subsequent thunderstorms would turn the lands into a raging inferno of wildfire and smoke. And yet, this temporary rain that had swept in from the east with the morning mist was not going to last. Soon the clouds would part, the winds from the ocean would clear away the misty haze that embraced the forest with the arms of a tender lover, relinquishing rule once more to the flaming orb that had yet to fully rise in the sky.

But for now it was still a morning of gray skies, of quietness as the birds and critters in the bushes took the opportunity to sleep in, and the rare sweetness of dewy grasses that seemed to all but melt on the tongue. To the gray stallion who grazed by the lakeside it was a blissful moment of absolute peace - one that he would save in memory and come back to when times became more troubled, when time was short and the need for a moments calm and quiet was rare indeed.

A soft smile played upon the lips as he raised the head from the lush greens for a moment, amber eyes sweeping across the waters until touching upon a larger ripple among the many on the steely surface. He thought he could see the glitter of pale blue eyes, the flick of a white tail; then the dragon was gone below the surface once more, off to discover if there really were fish in the pool. Lace wished her luck - secretly hoping that she wouldn't end up catching anything bigger and more unsettling than a pike - and eventually returned to the tempting grasses below the feet.

A blessed morning, without doubt.


@[Gabriel]
@[Torleik]

Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again- again- again-