The party camped at the edge of the forest, and woke up to singing. Somewhere in the trees, an etherial chorus drifted on the breeze. The music was high and sweet, but also reverberated deep in their souls.
"That's Elfsong," gasped the Mage, awed. "Outsiders rarely hear such melodies."
The Fighter and the Thief paused in breaking camp to listen. The singers were drawing closer. The Priest brushed at his grubby vestments, suddenly conscious they might have visitors.
The Ranger strung his bow. He was the only one that spoke Elvish. This was a hunting song, and they were trespassing.
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Everyday Drabbles
Short StoryA drabble is a very short story one hundred words long. No more, no less. They are designed for maximum impact in the least amount of space. For 2019, I'll be posting a drabble every day.
