Deepwood Weald Mythical Mithril

Marruz shrugged. "I wouldn't mind learning something new today," he chuffed, his tone fixed to its usual remoteness. The woman clearly sequestered many tales that, to the young darkling, made her all the more arcane in his eyes.

He wished that he could have known the figures that last heard these tunes. Perhaps even the younger Moira that sang them. Any song, he knew, was written for a purpose, after all.