Eventide is softly casting o'er the earth a magic spell,

And a love-song, everlasting, on the night wind seems to swell.

It was only just past midday, but with the amount of light that managed to penetrate the thick layers of cloud and the equally thick canopy, the sun might as well have set already. The moisture in the air was of a thick, visible kind, where the rain and the mist nearly became the same thing. Like vapor the water drifted through the air, stirred only by reckless movement; no breath of wind had yet managed to penetrate this far down into the gloom, and the only sound that could be heard was the patter of invisible droplets against waxy leaves.

Erthë stared gloomily out into the forest from her shelter beneath a tree. It was one of those peculiar specimens that she had so far only seen in the Edge; low and gnarled with willowy branches that slumped towards the ground like a curtain, thick enough to blot out both sound and sight. It should have been pitch black beneath the verdant drapes, but it seemed the very tree itself emitted a kind of silvery light, as though veins of purest light stretched through the black wood. Remnants of once-beautiful flowers still clung to twigs here and there, side by side with small, unripe fruits. The season for flowers was coming to an end along with the days of abundant sunshine, and with the thickening mist and shortening days all of nature seemed to slow down.

Trouble was, Erthë didn't want to slow down. Days like these, when the weather kept her from testing the limits of her wings or plying the string her mother's enchanted bow, she felt a deep restlessness grab hold of her. When darkness gathered and closed in upon her she found herself entertaining thoughts that only made her miserable, chewing memories over and over again until she wanted to scream or cry or maybe kick someone.

Her long, wispy tail swished back and forth around her, brushing over the ground and impatiently whisking away the misty sprites that crowded around her shimmering skin. They were all over the Edge these days. Small, intangible figures of mist trailed the living wherever they went, animals or ghosts of the dead - it didn't matter. Any other time she would have been delighted by the sight of the voiceless visions, eager to join in with their silent dance. But today she had no patience for them, nor anyone else for that matter.

With a grimace she turned her back on the rain and retreated further into the shadows under the tree, folded the legs beneath herself and settled down on the ground with the tail wrapped tightly around herself. Sighing restlessly she began to preen the feathers of her wings, but gave up as soon as she had started; there was no point as long as it remained this damp. Erthë grit her teeth and looked around, quickly growing desperate for something to do. Anything, anyone would do - as long as it took her mind off her own thoughts it was good.