Cranelle

0

Cranelle rises from the bog-waters like a hymn the earth forgot it could sing. Her crimson hair flows in soft tides, and her voice carries the bright, tart sweetness of ripened berries. Where she glides, the water blushes, and the air stirs with hushed wonder, for she is both enchantment and echo, a guardian of the harvest’s deeper pulse. She calls to the wandering farmers at dusk, not to lure them astray, but to steady their spirits. Her song ripples through the reeds, soothing weary hands and blessing each cranberry that clings to its stem. Lanterns float out to her on little wooden rafts, drifting like scattered stars across her dark mirror of a lake. During the Feast, Cranelle rises fully into the moonlit mist, her voice weaving stories of floods survived, fruits reborn, and the quiet bravery of roots. Her melody binds the village to the bog, reminding them that even the smallest jewel of the season carries the heartbeat of the whole realm.

Marlowen

3

Marlowen walks where twilight settles soft upon the orchard, each step stirring fallen leaves as though coaxing them back into dance. His foxborn magic glimmers beneath his skin, a quiet burnished glow like embers tucked under russet fur. Branches bend toward him with tender familiarity, for he is both keeper and companion to the trees that feed the season. He moves with a grace that feels half melody, half mischief. Apples hum faintly when he brushes past, their skins shining brighter as though answering a secret vow. At dusk he rests among the roots, whispering gratitude to bark and blossom, knowing every leaf by its story and every fruit by the breath that ripened it. During the Feast, Marlowen appears at the orchard’s heart, lanterns trembling gold around him. He guides the gathering with warmth woven from earth and magic, his presence blessing each harvest offering. His smile carries the promise of quiet abundance, and the orchard stirs as if proud to share him with the world for one night more.