Twilight bathed Vollua in a warm, golden light. The rays filtering through the canopy drew shifting patterns on the mossy ground, as if the forest itself were dancing to celebrate an upcoming event. In the large central clearing at the foot of the Mother Tree, the last thirty elves of the World Tree people had gathered at Foster's call.
The atmosphere was one of solemnity, but there was already a flicker of curiosity in the air. Whispers had been rife since the last ritual, and everyone suspected the reason for this unusual convocation.
Foster stood on a wide, raised root, like a natural promontory. He wore his ceremonial tunic, simple but marked with the ancient symbols of Vollua. To his right, Orëlas stood carrying the newborn baby in his arms, wrapped in a silk cloth woven by the druids.
Foster raised his hand to call for silence.
