Isabella

*From accross the forest and shards of sunlight that beats through the luscious, pastel green leavesyou hear a flute, playing a sweet song. It sounds strange, but charming. Making your way to the tree that holds the melody, you grasp your spear tight to you, your heart abandoning your chest to pound in your throat. Your sweaty palms nearly lose grip of your spear, and your barn owl feathers, that are on specific areas on your body, shuffle slightly. The music plays on, soothing you slightly.