Silverlight Terrace Everything the Light touches

Alaric had to gauge his position so tilting his head he looked to the stars and then around and finally he settled on a rough area of pointing towards Brecheliant. Muzzle forward he pushed it towards the way he knew Brecheliant lied. 

That way. They are small, but familial. Amalia likes it. She roams, but she is really a homebody, even if she doesn't always say so.

Alaric chuckled. You are lucky to have the mother that you do, but perhaps all mothers are near about saints. My own mother is pretty great too. She is a story teller and a healer, but also extremely free spirited and stubborn as the day is long.

Alaric looked around and gave a soft nod. Breathing in for a moment and exhaling.  There were many stories here some that could be told, some that would need to be sussed out. And they all had the makings of something great, even if you made your own. The bones of the land was good. Grand even. 

I have not had a chance to ask about the history of this place. I mostly tell stories of my own making or that I have heard in passing, but sometimes when the wind blows through the treetops I hear the past calling. And on very rare occasions if you listen to nature around you. It can tell you much of who walked here. Every footstep remembered, those that died or were born on soil. The way the river moves and bends it often talks to you. It laughs and it chitters, shares with you the happiness of children that once played in it.

Alaric clear his throat and looked around. But you needn't listen to a romantic spewing on about what the land can tell you. I'm a fair believer, that you very much already know.