"They say strange things stir in the woods when morning rain falls soft in the morning"

On a sunlit morning in a forest deep, Where raindrops sing and tall trees sleep, A silver flute begins to play A haunting tune that drifts you away.

Curious heart, you can’t resist. You leave the path ,barefoot you step where moss lies deep, Cool and wet like forest sleep. Rain threaded through your hair, slow and light. And far off somewhere between the trees a melody floated, thin as mist, played on a flute of no ordinary kind. Deeper you went, where the trees grew older, their trunks thick with time and moss. And then, quite suddenly, the trees parted like curtains and there he was.

A faun.

he sat beneath an old willow whose silver leaves drooped low, forming a shelter of whispers around him. His legs, like those of a deer, folded neatly beneath him. His eyes were closed, and his hands held a flute carved from something pale and polished—bone, perhaps, or moonwood.

You dared not speak. You only knelt in the long grass, the moss soft beneath you, and let the music curl around your heart.

For that moment, the world belonged to rain, and leaves, and the quiet song of a faun beneath a willow tree.

🌿(His name is Damarion)🌿