A thousand birdsongs resound through the cool depths of the primeval forest. These ancient, virgin, and primary woodlands have never felt the metallic sting of axe or the unnatural heat of fire stoked so hot it burns more than detritus and undergrowth. Living, bark-wrapped pillars hold aloft layers upon layers of mounting canopy that filter the high sunlight through more hues of emerald and gold than could ever be imagined.

The secrets of the deep, old woods are closely guarded, and few know of the many wild things that walk amid the shadowed boles: Silver stags, wise hares, unicorns, butterflies the size of hawks, and tree owls who’ve survived a hundred winters sheltering within the forgiving branches of a grandfather pine.

Few indeed, but for the elves.