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A wind that seemed to carry words between the trees. He listened more carefully, there were words on the wind. Morelin walked towards the sound and the words grew in their clarity. He stepped towards a clearing and gasped. Beneath the dusk moon, a woman sat, singing to the ground, as vibrant blood red flowers bloomed at her words. Morelin, like all the Ilma, could speak to plants and command them to grow. It was the only part of his power that had been bestowed by Gadrika when the gift of the Ilma had been forged, yet he used it little. Morelin was a warrior, he needed his powers to be a weapon.
He stood in the shadow of the trees, watching her as she worked.
From that moment the doom of Morelin was locked and the greatest tragedy of the Ilma’s youth was set in motion. He had heard rumours of Lucarnia and had seen her once as a child but in her womanhood, no story could convey her beauty. Her skin absorbed the red light of the moon and gave it back in greater beauty. Un-like Morelin, she had no red scales but instead lines like roots came down from her eyes and clung delicately all the way down her cheeks. She was slender like a flower in spring, but Morelin could feel the strength of the trees in her.
A wind rose around Morelin and seemed to flutter around Lucarnia. He watched as a smile crept onto her lips. She sang again and a beautiful red flower bloomed. Her gaze fell suddenly towards him, “Come out fair lord and bask in the light. Umoria will soon come across the glade and their light will mix. Come and see the flowers, you are upsetting the trees.”
Nervously Morelin stepped into the glade. He bowed slightly; his hand pressed against his forehead. She did the same, “Hail lord of the Ilma.” Her eyes went to the silver flower pin on his shoulder, “You are of the house of Mina?”
Morelin stared into her piercing green eyes that seemed so strange from the golden irises he was used to, “I am Morelin Diactra.” He said in a shaking voice, “From the town of Minagrin.”
“It is a pleasure.” She said as she turned back towards the flowers.
“You must be Lucarnia Bitaran, daughter of the wood king.”
She nodded and Morelin stepped closer to her and as he did, Umoria moved across the sky and gave its silver light to the clearing and it mingled, as she had said, with the light of Aradtoria.
“Tell me wood daughter, how did you know I was here?” He asked.
“You said it in the name you give me. We who live in the wood, hear the trees and many do not like the hearts of the Ilma, who chop them down for their machines of war.” She laughed like it was some joke, but Morelin hesitantly looked towards the trees, his power reaching out to silence the wind that blew through them. His eyes then went down to the flower, “This is livora.” He said, “That grows only on the lands where the kin of Drage have lived.”
She looked up at him, taking in the lines of his face, “It was sent over by my family who reside over the ocean. It does not like our soil so I must force it to grow.” She pulled a seed from the top of one of the flowers and placed it in Morelin’s hand, “Perhaps you could grow them in your garden my lord.”
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