Far above the treeline, the rocks glittered golden in the cold sun; over them raced a sheer smooth silver gloss, singing, singing. The cold golden rock rejoiced beneath the silver song that flowed over it, bringing its color to life. The low sun shone off the silver surface, and a young elf paused, high above the snowline.
He came to the shining stream, bent down to the stream, and his lips met the water. He drank. The cold filled him and he laughed aloud, exulting in its sweet taste; then he stood, and caressed the stream with his hand before he turned to chase the water down the hill. He sped away towards the forest far below. Beside him, the water shimmered and glowed in the cold winter light, laughing, singing, racing down, down, down.
Far below, eagles left their soaring and turned towards their eyries. A great stag darted away from the stream as the young elf sped past. The elf cried to him, and the stag looked back. The elf ran on. Beside him the stream gained strength.
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