An ancient forest, beautiful, thoroughly

abandoned. Steeped in Elven architecture,

a reminder of a race for whom time ran out.

Pale stone juts out from behind silver bark and yellowed leaves.

 

Foliage rustles.

 

An autumnal breeze disturbing fallen leaves and detached twiglets.

Still, no one is here.

 

Two centuries have passed since the halls of these

elegant palaces have bustled with life.

Silence reigns here now.

 

But then, a sound!

A cry. From somewhere beneath the foliage…

How?

 

Searching, pushing aside fallen leaves and detached twiglets –

a passage descending underneath the northernmost palace.

A passage that time forgot.

 

Within the walls of the palace cellar, a tribe of Elves;

a lost clan. A group that avoided the cataclysm,

deciding not to venture above ground again and stay safe

together, away from the world.

 

A cry, emanating from a dimly lit corner: a baby.

The hope of the family, that their race will one day

fill the palace walls with life and sound; that their legacy

will continue, and that once again their citadel will be alive,

thriving, protected.

 

A cry, emanating from a dimly lit corner,

melodic and sweet;

the hope of a nation for whom time

has not yet ran out.