'Bethberry!', came the clear voice of Lassiël, stepping from beneath the shadows of the forest. 'I have come from far away and would know the story of the Bonfire Glade. How came these trees to be so sad. Can someone tell me of it?'
The trees seemed to lean in to hear her response. They murmured at the question, and their dry leaves rustled though no wind disturbed them. Long and ancient shadows, driven outward from the crackling fire, now inched in of their own accord.
'We are waiting, Bethberry. Will you speak?'
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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