Cool wisps of fog linger near the dark edges of evergreen branches. Bordered by steep stony crags that lift into the sky and lower into the sea, the forest of Firstlight nestles close to the coast and the city of Fogmorn. It was here that the rhythmic tones had led you, to a place among the trees that waved gracefully in the morning blow.
Needles scatter from the hanging branches, brushing your exposed flesh. Their abrasive disdain was all that remained as the gust died. You lower a cloaked arm while the other reaches for your cheek. Looking down at your fingers you spy a smear of blood. This breeze was not to be trifled with.