[Lost In Thoughts]

"There be 'n old tradition 'ah came 'ta find 'n some old texts from 'fore druidry went 'n came back. 's about stories. 'f someone has a story 'ta tell, yer listn', 'n yer dunnae judge. 'ah think some folk could do wit' tellin' 'n forgettin'."

Winter is Fast Approaching. 

So it does every year, at the same pace, at the same time. 
Birds travel from Meranthe to other, warmer continents. Those who don't ready themselves for the frost that the winter days will surely bring. 

Nature begins the age old dance of Winter. Tucking itself away for the duration of this harsh and often bitter season. To rest. To think, maybe. But surely, to forget. Forget the horrors of the past. To kill what resentment and guilt still festered within the ground, so that spring may grow a field of hope anew. 

So too must Man rid itself of regret and sorrow to welcome spring in all its renewed vigour and liveliness. 

---

"Did you hear? That old guy hanging around the Forests of Delphina. Yes, the one that's always on that stupid cliff. Apperantly, he wants to hear our stories. Strange, isn't it?

That, or something like that is what the talk is around the non-magi in Delphina. 

On his little hill top, the Hermit of Nemeas Forests,  Øberøn, stood. 
The offer, so it is said, is simple. Simply talk to him (maybe bring some booze too, if you're at it!)
Tell him stories of your great exploits, your deepest fears. Your finest hours, and your worst morning afters'. 
Anything you need to, get it off your chest. Let only Nature and the Hermit hear it. And then?

Let it be left forgotten if you wish. But rest easy that it has been shared, and more importantly, heard.