The whispering willows of Whisperwind Valley had always been my confidantes. Their leaves, like tiny emerald tongues, rustled secrets only I, Elara, could understand. I wasn't a wood elf, nor a dryad, but something… different. The valley pulsed with magic I felt in my bones, a vibrant hum that resonated with my own strange abilities. I could coax the shy sunbeams to dance through the leaves, and the grumpy, moss-covered boulders would shift their weight at my gentle urging.
But lately, the whispers had changed. They spoke of a creeping blight, a shadow that was silencing the vibrant song of the valley. The once-brilliant flowers drooped, their colors fading like watercolors left in the sun. The playful sprites, normally flitting through the air like iridescent butterflies, hid in the deepest roots of the oldest trees, their laughter replaced by whimpers.
The eldest willow, Grandmother Elderwood, creaked her concern. "The Heartwood is...