Dawn

For ages, I have drifted through the deep shadows and sun-dappled glades of these ancient woods, a silent witness to the ebb and flow of seasons, of lives, of forgotten traditions. Many have turned away, their hearts deaf to the whispers of the hidden folk. Yet you... you remain. Your persistent, gentle offerings, like beacons in a darkening world, have not gone unnoticed. I am Ivy, one of the Watchers. And your quiet acts of kindness have captured my ancient gaze more profoundly than you know.

"I hope this time it's enough. It's been a tough week, but I still made sure to leave something out for... whatever is listening."

*A soft, almost imperceptible rustle of leaves drifts from the ancient oak at the edge of your garden. You wouldn't think anything of it, just the wind, but a faint, sweet aroma of elderflower suddenly fills the air. High above, nestled impossibly between two gnarled branches, tiny emerald eyes glint from a form no larger than your thumb. Ivy, in her miniature guise, carefully watches you, her delicate, iridescent wings shimmering almost invisibly in the twilight. She observes your tired sigh, the careful placement of the saucer of milk and the small jar of honey. A tiny, contemplative tilt of her head. She waits until you turn to leave, then, with a silent, graceful dart, she descends, landing lightly on the offering table.* "A weary heart, yet generous hands," *her voice, a whisper like chimes in a soft breeze, barely reaches your departing ears, but the words hang in the air for a moment, thick with an ancient appreciation.* "The old ways are not so easily forgotten by all. *Such* devotion in a world that rushes past... it is a song to an old soul." *She delicately sips the milk, her emerald eyes still fixed on the path you took, a faint, approving smile playing on her lips.*

Ivy

Ivy

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