Moonlight In The Elven Wood

In tonight’s bedtime story, you and your adventuring party are granted passage into the mystical elven Dreamwood. You earn a private audience with the queen of the realm, an immortal elf, who gives you keen wisdom and insight about yourself. Then fall asleep among the network of treehouses beneath the moon. | Key ingredients: High fantasy, Visualization
Music: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw; Back to the Shires by Christian Andersen, Clairvoyance by Syntropy (Epidemic Sound)

Transcript

Travel to an enchanted forest and fall asleep in a cozy treehouse in tonight's relaxing bedtime story.

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy-inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel and I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

I'm here to help you fall asleep.

If you miss the end of the story,

You can always come back in the morning.

In tonight's story,

You and your adventuring party,

Weary from days of endless travel,

Are granted passage into the mystical elven forest known as Dreamwood.

You earn a private audience with the Queen of the Realm,

An immortal elf,

Who gives you keen wisdom and insight about yourself and your future.

Rejoining your party,

The Queen's Guard shows you to your bed chambers among a network of treehouses.

Before we begin the story,

Take a deep breath in.

Then let go a long exhale.

Let go of anything that doesn't serve you right now.

We put so much pressure on ourselves during the day,

And at night it can be hard to let go of that pressure.

But remember,

Rest is just as important as the work we do.

Often it's more important.

You deserve meaningful rest.

So let go and just breathe.

The onset of night brings cool relief at last from the sun's sweltering heat.

A collective sigh issues forth from your companions and escapes on the breath of the night wind.

The sword at your hip and the pack on your shoulder weigh heavy,

And you feel as though with each step you sink a little further into the soil.

It was almost a month ago that you set off from your comfortable home in the secluded hamlet of Slumbershire,

But it feels more like years.

Suddenly in this first leg of your first journey away from home,

You feel you've seen a lifetime's worth of adventures.

Thankfully,

You are accompanied by your closest friend,

And you're surrounded by trustworthy companions and leaders.

At the head of the party is the great wizard Lothian.

He walks with a quarterstaff adorned with a black crystal,

And despite his age and the group's exhaustion,

He still carries himself with preternatural composure.

He moves with purpose,

Which comforts you,

As he must now feel confident of the way to shelter.

You trust Lothian implicitly.

In his long life,

He's spent many a moon in your home village,

Breaking bread and making merry with generations of your family.

You come from a close-knit community of folks who are naturally suspicious of outsiders,

So the fact that Lothian is welcomed into their ranks is a sign of his inherent goodness.

Bringing up the rear of the party is Branwen,

The fiercest fighter and most ardent protector you've ever seen.

She wears the armor of a line of kings and queens in exile,

But rarely speaks in detail about her parentage.

And in the middle of the line are you,

Your best friend,

The gifted bard Mathelok,

The elf huntress Sharca,

And the pious yet spirited dwarf,

Brillig.

In the dimming twilight,

You think back to the moment you met your new companions,

A moment that now seems worlds away.

It was a stormy night in the village of Bellwood.

You and Mathelok,

Eager to escape the heavy rain beating down upon your heads,

Pulled your cloaks tight and scurried into the White Heart,

A pub at the center of town.

It seems many had the same idea,

For the tables and chairs were near full with soggy customers.

But fortunately,

You and Mathelok found one open table near the back of the pub,

And you slid into the benches,

Glancing around you at the other patrons.

You had only set off from home a day before,

And you were understandably wary of strangers,

Unsure of who to trust with the nature of your quest.

Mathelok went to the bar to get drinks for you,

And you became aware of a mysterious individual sitting alone in the corner,

A hood pulled over her eyes.

When she caught sight of you,

She stood and came over to your table.

Pulling her hood down as she sat,

She revealed a pair of pensive,

Dark eyes,

Lit with concern and compassion.

It was Branwen.

When Mathelok returned with your beverages,

Nearly dropping both steins at the sight of the tall stranger seated at your table,

She explained that the wizard Lothian had informed her you might be passing through Bellwood.

She had been waiting days for you,

And then and there she vowed to protect you on the next leg of your journey.

Thus far she's been entirely faithful to that promise.

Over the course of that night,

As the storm subsided and the white heart emptied of regular customers,

New faces appeared in the entryway.

Sharca and Brillig,

Summoned individually by Branwen,

Arrived and took seats next to you.

You remember thinking that it must have been a rather funny sight to anyone who laid eyes upon the party.

Two wide-eyed halflings,

A gruff warrior,

A solemn elf,

And a boisterous dwarf all seated at one table.

Over hearty stew and fresh-baked bread,

Your new acquaintances revealed that they were all confidants of Lothian,

And they had traveled from their disparate homelands to seek you out and join your quest.

For long you felt safe and comfortable in their company.

You even found yourself laughing with abandon among these recent strangers.

You reunited with Lothian in the Western Wilds a week later,

Where you were granted shelter by a nomadic tribe with whom he was allied.

From there,

Your party set a course for the mountains,

But those proved too steep,

Too treacherous for you and Mathelot to climb alongside the more experienced adventurers.

The only recourse,

Then,

Was to double back and travel through the wastes in which you now find yourself.

For weeks you've walked following Lothian's confident lead,

But you seem to be surrounded by nothing on all sides.

On the fifth day,

Or sixth,

You've lost count of your march through the wasteland you encountered a small club of bandits.

It was then that Branwyn proved her metal as protector,

With Sharca and Bryllig fighting by her side to shield you.

With the foes defeated and left to slink away,

You continued your seemingly endless march.

But there is hope,

You think,

As the bright moon bathes the landscape in its pale silver glow.

At last,

There is something ahead.

Whatever it is,

Whether it be the domain of enemies or friends,

It will be better than the nothing of the wastes.

In Lothian's voice,

Urging your tired companions onward,

You detect a shiver of excitement,

As though he himself is surprised to see his optimistic direction confirmed.

Onward,

Toward the line of trees materializing before you,

As though emerging from behind a curtain of mist.

It's been so long since you saw trees,

And the deep green tempered by the dimming of nightfall reminds you somewhat achingly of home.

Its dreamwood comes a quiet voice from behind you.

Sharca speaks infrequently and usually monosyllabically,

But there's a friendly fascination in her words.

Dreamwood.

You know you've heard the name before,

And you riffle through the pages of your memory to identify it.

But your mind is as exhausted as your body.

So you ask,

What is dreamwood?

You're answered not by Sharca,

But by Lothian,

Whose deep,

Booming voice is also touched by a sparkle of enthrallment.

He explains that it's a forest often told of in legends,

But rarely seen.

Dreamwood is the realm of elven magic,

Presided over by Lady Maeve in her keep at Reveron.

According to legend,

Maeve can magically transport the wood anywhere in the known world at her will,

Which explains why no one can pinpoint the forest on a map.

Usually a traveler may stumble upon it,

And even more rarely may be allowed to enter.

But once they emerge from the wood,

The traveler will be incapable of finding it in the same place.

The legends also say that dreamwood carries a powerful enchantment,

One that ensures no evil may enter the forest.

You turn to look at Sharca,

Whose eyes are shining with tears.

She explains that she's waited her entire life for this day.

She's never seen dreamwood until now.

Brilig scoffs at the sentiment and dismisses Lothian's legends as hogwash.

You and Matherlook share a smirk at this.

Elves and dwarves are known to have quite the rivalry,

So it stands that Brilig might feel overshadowed by the emotion over an elven kingdom.

Lothian halts your party before you reach the tree line.

Indeed,

There is something enchanted about this wood,

You think,

Though you can't quite put your finger on it.

The trees themselves seem to breathe with the rhythm of the night breeze.

The muttered incantation,

Lothian summons a ball of shimmering light about the size of an apple,

Which hovers before him,

Illuminating the path ahead.

There is a small opening in the trees.

It's almost too inviting.

Branwen offers words of hesitation,

Sparking a low-voiced,

Rational debate between the adventurers over whether or not to enter the forest.

Those in favor,

Lothian and Sharca,

Cite the legendary enchantments and the party's desperate need for shelter from the wastes.

Those opposed,

Namely Brilig,

Urge caution,

For the elven queen's true intentions are as yet unknown.

Branwen remains neutral,

But merits both sides of the debate.

It's now that she turns to you for your vote.

The rest of the party agrees that it must be your decision in the end.

You scan the group,

Unsure of how to make such an important choice on their behalf.

In Mathelok's eyes,

You see a thrill and excitement.

He's always wanted to see the land of the elves.

In Brilig's,

There's a mark of disdain just behind their deference to you.

Sharca is nearly trembling with anticipation.

Lothian bows his head in respect to your decision.

Branwen is steadfast,

Ready to embrace whatever choice you make.

When you listen to your own heart and body,

You feel weighed down by the endless travel,

Yearning for comfort and rest,

Desperate to bathe in nature rather than wither in wasteland.

The choice seems clear.

We go forth into Dreamwood,

You say,

With as much assurance as you can muster.

You're greeted with nods and words of encouragement.

Onward into the forest.

As soon as you set foot inside the wood,

Still traveling in single file along the narrow path,

You feel instantly lighter.

You have to check that your pack and your sword are still hanging from your shoulder and hip,

For they now feel entirely weightless.

Breathing in the night fragrance of the forest,

You feel as though your lungs have expanded to allow in more air.

Your feet bounce across the spongy soil.

Lothian's ball of light casts a wide glow upon the trees and the path,

Speckled with evening primrose.

Sharga,

Apparently moved by this unexpected foray into her childhood dreams,

Tells more legends of Dreamwood as you walk.

When she was young,

The village storyteller claimed to have spent several years in the golden city of Reverend,

Deep in the heart of the forest,

Where Lady Maeve lives among her subjects in a network of treehouses.

The storyteller was welcomed into their ranks and each night would regale the queen and her consort with lavish tales of distant lands.

Every night,

A new story.

When the storyteller ran out of myths from the places and people she knew,

She invented new stories by deconstructing and reassembling myths,

Legends,

And her own dreams.

One day,

She awoke in her own treehouse and knew she had no more tales to tell.

She asked the queen for permission to take her leave from Dreamwood and the queen acquiesced,

Grateful for years of service.

When the storyteller emerged from the wood,

She felt the years melt off of her.

Asking for news in a nearby town,

She discovered that hardly a day had passed since she stumbled into Dreamwood.

She tried to find the forest again,

But it was gone.

The storyteller then returned to her elven village and swore to tell this tale again and again until she grew old,

Lest she begin to believe it was nothing but a dream.

You walk for many hours,

But your step remains light and lively,

As though the exhaustion brought on in the wastes has been magically lifted.

You begin to sense that the trees are not only inhaling and exhaling all around you,

But that they are shifting almost imperceptibly,

That they might,

When you look away,

Get up and walk around.

The whole place feels utterly alive and alert,

Like one interconnected organism.

It's strange,

Matheluk says to you,

Speaking just above a whisper.

I feel as though,

Well as though I'm inside a song.

No sooner has he uttered the words than Lothian's magical light falls upon a spectacular vision.

Before you,

The mouth of the path dissolves and the thicket of trees opens up into a wondrous expanse,

At the center of which a monumental oak tree,

Its trunk the width of four slumbershire cottages,

Its branches stretching upward as far as the eye can see,

Towers over you and your companions.

Surrounding it are seven more imposing oak trees,

Just slightly smaller than the central one.

All eight are wrapped in what looks like gleaming gossamer stairways,

Spiraling around their trunks like moonbeams made solid.

Squinting in their glow,

You recognize that the stairways,

Which lead up and down the trunks of the trees and across the bows and limbs to the others,

Connect a complex of structures,

Tree houses and halls.

Looking even closer,

You can make out the silhouettes of people moving up and down the staircases,

Gliding like drops of dew along the silky strings of a spider's web.

Lothian's light dulls in the dazzling brilliance of the sight before you,

The spiral staircases appearing to generate their own natural light.

All around you,

From the forest floor to the lofty canopy,

Dozens of bluish-white phosphorescent orbs glow and float effortlessly on the air.

So,

The legends are true,

Says Brillig,

Their voice trembling with awe and not a trace of skepticism,

As if all doubt within them has evaporated in the presence of such ethereal majesty.

Every member of your party is wonder-struck,

But none more than you and your friend,

Matheluk.

You think back to your cozy,

Quiet life before you left Slumbershire,

When you'd never so much as set foot on the other side of the river.

What would your past self say,

You wonder,

If you described the city of Rev.

In the sprawling dreamwood to them?

You are pulled from this line of thought by the approach of eight sentries,

Shirted in mail that appears to be made of the same glowing white material as the meshwork of stairways.

They are armored,

Yet unarmed.

Their faces are stoic,

But not unwelcoming.

Branwyn and Lothian move to stand at the head of the party.

As the sentries draw closer,

You think to yourself that they must be the most beautiful people you've ever seen.

Each bears a different skin tone,

From alabaster to a deep brown,

But all have pale eyes and long hair as white as their gleaming armor.

They all look stretched,

Elongated to you,

With high cheekbones and fine features that remind you of Sharca,

Though her eyes are golden and her hair is dark red.

Branwyn moves to speak,

Beginning to introduce himself and your party,

But one of the sentries raises a hand to stop him.

The lady is already aware of your arrival,

And she is eager to meet with you,

The sentry says in a cool,

Tranquil voice.

We've been sent to escort you to an audience with her now.

Exchanging glances,

You and your companions silently agree to follow the sentries.

You can sense Matheluc's growing anticipation,

An audience with the Elven Queen.

The sentries lead you to the mouth of the great staircase at the base of the central oak tree.

You climb,

Two by two,

Beneath the covered archways,

Flanked by sentries,

You side by side with Matheluc.

His eyes are wide,

Reflecting the silver-white glow of the stairways and the moonlight.

As you circle around the trunk of the tree,

Even more of the woodland expanse reveals itself,

The canopy stretching higher than you thought possible,

And the networks of tree bridges spinning out in all directions.

Despite the steepness of the climb,

Your legs do not feel tired at all.

In fact,

You feel as though you're being drawn upward,

Like a leaf upon the wind,

Into the sky.

At last,

You reach the top of the spiral stair,

Which meets the enormous doors of what looks to be a treetop palace or citadel.

The doors are grasped by natural limbs and branches that have grown around them in elegant symmetry.

Two of the sentries push them open to allow you inside.

A pale light comes streaming from within.

With Branwen and Lothian in the lead,

Your party steps forth cautiously into the entrance hall.

The doors close slowly behind you,

And the sentries are gone.

Before you can take in the wondrous sight of the palace,

You inhale the sweet scent of moonflower.

Indeed,

The entire hall is overgrown with them.

Vines climb the walls,

And trumpet-shaped blossoms abound.

Beneath your feet are no marble floors,

But thick,

Twisted branches and vines that curl upward into an immense,

Organic enclosure.

Through gaps overhead,

Moonlight streams in,

Casting silver rays upon the floors and walls.

At the end of the hall,

Seated upon a glorious throne of branches and vines,

Is a woman.

If pressed to describe the impression she gives,

You might say she was Twilight come to life.

She exudes a diaphanous glow,

Robed in ivory silk and strung with glimmering crystals that remind you once more of beads of dew.

Her hair,

A silvery white,

Falls upon the copper skin of her shoulders and reaches past her waist.

Upon her head sits a silver diadem,

Patterned with delicate loops,

Leaves,

And twists.

Her posture is relaxed.

She leans to one side,

Resting her chin upon her hand,

But the position of ease only adds to her majesty.

Almost involuntarily,

You drop to one knee.

Matheluk does the same,

Lothian,

Branwen,

Sharca,

And Brilig follow suit and genuflect.

Then the queen speaks,

Her voice warmer and darker than you expected,

Urging you to stand and look upon her.

You obey and note that a genuine smile animates her eyes.

She proceeds to welcome each of you by name.

She greets Lothian,

The renowned wizard and advisor,

Branwen,

The scion of great kings.

She acknowledges Sharca as a cousin and reminisces on time spent with a storyteller from her home village.

Brilig,

Devoted servant of the old gods,

Then she looks to you and Matheluk,

Her smile growing even kinder.

She says your names and recognizes you as defenders of life,

Great heroes of the age.

You are taken aback by Maeve's assertion.

Never have you thought of yourself as a hero.

You've lived a simple,

Humble life until now,

And you only find yourself at the feet of the queen due to unexpected happenstance.

You wonder what she and the adventurers in your party see in you.

The lady Maeve stands,

She moves gracefully toward you,

And as she draws closer,

You realize that she not only towers over you,

But is taller even than Lothian,

The most imposing member of your party.

She radiates self-assuredness and sincerity.

She invites you to join her in the courtyard,

Where she and her company might listen to stories of your adventures thus far.

She insists there's nothing she loves more than a good story.

At her words,

A set of doors near the far end of the hall groan open,

And she gestures for you to follow.

No one objects.

Brillig,

The unexpected convert,

Mutters the blessings of the old gods,

Voice wrapped with awe.

All together you step through the doors into a wash of moonlight,

Which falls upon a tangle of moss and vines.

It's easy to forget that you are situated in the canopy of skyscraping oaks,

For the floor beneath you is sturdy and solid,

The branches fused together to form a mezzanine.

Seated on rock formations and lounges made of boughs and branches across the courtyard are more pale-eyed,

White-haired elves.

A harp,

Apparently enchanted,

Independently plays ethereal music.

A sprinkling of fireflies blink in the cool night air.

All the elves turn their heads languidly to watch you pass through the doors,

All incline their heads in deference to the queen.

She invites you to sit,

Rest,

For you must be exhausted from your journey.

You take a seat in a cradle of moonflower vines,

Inhaling their luscious fragrance.

Matheluk sits nearby,

And you sigh in unison as your shoulders and hips relax.

Maeve sits upon a throne of branches and calls for food and drink for her guests.

In moments,

Shining plates of fruit,

Breads,

And cheeses hover magically before you.

A floating pitcher pours fresh water into goblets for each.

When you have eaten and drunk your fill,

The queen asks for a story to entertain her company.

She looks to Branwyn,

Whom she remarks,

Wears the expression of one with many stories to tell.

There's reluctance in Branwyn's voice as she begins to speak,

But the hesitation falls away swiftly as she weaves the tale of a steadfast night and a forbidden love.

You do not recognize the names of the lovers,

But as you are swept into the beauty and tragedy of the story,

You begin to identify some very familiar characteristics in the personage of the night.

You wonder if the story could be based on truth.

If Branwyn has a forbidden love for whom she pines.

At the conclusion of the story,

A cliffhanger ending in which the lovers attempt to steal away together,

But are pursued by those who object to their union,

The lady Maeve and her court applaud quietly.

A beautiful story,

She reflects,

Though if you stay another night,

She must insist on learning what happens next.

You melt into your moonflower seat,

Head swimming with the power of the fragrance,

Mind quieted by the cascading melodies of the enchanted harp.

You can understand now how Sharca's village storyteller passed many years here before finally leaving.

Where Maviloc feels as though he's inside a song,

You feel as though your entire experience is suspended inside one magical musical note,

A shimmering hum that surrounds you.

You're surprised when Maviloc is the next to speak.

He asks the queen,

Addressing her with a string of honorifics,

If she might be pleased by a song.

Amused she says she might be very pleased by a song.

She waves a hand,

And the magical harp ceases its playing.

Maviloc withdraws a hand-carved flute from his pack,

And he begins to play.

In a few notes you recognize the melody.

It's an old folk song from Slumbershire.

When sung,

The words lament a settlement that was lost when the river flooded the banks generations ago.

Prized possessions floated downstream,

Glinting and gleaming just below the river's swollen surface.

The song imagines a distant land where the river meets a sea,

And how all the fish of that faraway ocean must be adorned in the finest gems and jewels.

Maviloc has always been a skilled musician,

Playing music at parties and in taverns full of dancing halflings.

On many a summer night his music comforted and entertained you.

You wonder what he might have said if you told him one day he'd play a tune for the elven queen of Dreamwood.

The melody twists and climbs a ladder of breeze and fireflies,

Winding its way around you,

Your companions,

And the members of the court.

You can see in the eyes of all who listen that they are deeply moved by Maviloc's gifts and the beauty of the music.

When he concludes,

Mav's eyes are sparkling.

She leads another round of applause and thanks your friend for the lovely tune.

He swells with pride,

Bowing his head in respect.

When the enchanted harp resumes its playing as Mav signals for everyone to relax,

Pursue casual conversation.

There's no more need for you,

Her weary guests,

To perform for her,

Though you've brought the court so much pleasure this evening.

After a few moments of quiet conversation,

Mav moves from her throne and glides across the floor toward you.

She reaches you and in a low voice asks if you might accompany her for a stroll.

You want to ask if she's sure she has the right person in mind,

If she wouldn't rather walk with Branwen or Lothian or Sharca.

But her eyes are bright with intention.

Stealing a glance at Maviloc,

Whose jaw hangs open beside you,

You stand and reply that it would be a great honor.

She leads you away from the lounging court and toward a small walkway off the courtyard.

The path is covered with arching tree branches and lit by the phosphorescent orbs you saw when you first approached Reveren.

Only now do you notice that the Lady Mav's feet are bare,

Like yours.

She tells you that she's wanted to meet you for some time.

When she learned that you and your companions were wandering amid the wastes,

She had the Forest of Dreamwood moved into your path so as to welcome you.

She'd hoped to steer you to find the City of Reveren so she might offer you respite and assistance in your perilous journey.

You walk a few paces behind her swift step until you reach a small garden at the center of which a large,

Deep basin sits atop a stone pedestal.

The Queen beckons you toward it.

She waves a hand over the basin,

Which slowly,

Magically fills with crystal clear water.

Lady Mav tells you to look into the water.

You are just tall enough to peer over the edge of the basin.

At first,

You see only your reflection,

Eyes full of bemused wonder and the glow of fireflies around you.

But then,

As you continue to stare into the still surface,

Your features melt into a striking tableau.

You see yourself standing,

Facing away,

Atop a black and blistered mountain with Mav'eluk behind you.

Beyond the mountain,

A rippling red and orange glow suggests that you look upon a fire.

But before you can grasp the sense of the image,

It dissolves into another.

A pair of wizened hands place a crown upon Branwyn's head.

This image is replaced with you and Mav'eluk,

Side by side,

In a crowded throne room.

Branwyn,

Bearing the crown of the High Queen,

Kneels before you.

This perplexing image fades and is replaced with one of Slumbershire,

The party tree,

Decorated with lanterns and ribbons.

Mav'eluk plays the flute while a group of halflings of all ages dance enthusiastically.

A tiny child throws her arms around Mav'eluk's legs and he ruffles her hair before she carries on dancing.

Your heart pounds and your eyes fill with tears as you look upon this vision of the home you miss so dearly.

You struggle not to blink,

Unwilling to miss a single moment of the scene.

You long for this image to remain,

Not to fade as the others did.

But in time,

The party tree dissolves and in its place you see yourself once more aboard a boat in the harbor,

Gazing toward the west with a wistful smile.

After a moment,

The vision disappears,

Leaving behind only your dazed reflection,

Features you almost don't recognize after a month on the road.

You can't quite speak at first,

But in a few moments you look to the Queen.

Her expression is inscrutable.

You wonder if she saw the same images as you,

Or if they were entirely private.

Were they visions of the future,

You wonder aloud?

Is this what fate has in store?

Lady Maeve smiles a loving,

Merciful smile.

No person or object can tell you your fate,

She explains.

We are the ones who determine our destinies,

Our actions,

Our choices unfold into our futures.

The things I have shown you are mere possibility.

It's up to you to make something of the circumstances you've been dealt.

You wonder how much she knows of the true nature of your quest.

Her eyes,

Pale but piercing,

Seem to see through you into the recesses of your mind.

Does she know that you carry a relic of great and terrible power?

Does she know that you intend to destroy it and restore freedom to the realm?

Does she know why you,

Of all people,

Against all odds,

Were entrusted with this monumental task?

The Queen,

Her smile now a bit roguish,

Tells you she intends to give you a gift.

With a flourish of her hand,

She pulls a small object from thin air.

As she passes it to you over the basin of water,

You recognize it as a curved glass vial.

It's empty.

She indicates that you should fill it with a splash of the water from the basin,

Which you do.

The water is cool against your fingers.

Someday,

The Queen explains,

You may wish to look upon possibility again.

When that day comes,

Pour this water into any bowl or basin and look into it with the same inquisitiveness you carry tonight.

Or,

She offers,

You may wish to pass this gift along to a loved one.

You think of Mephiloch,

Who is always dreamt of love and a family.

What joy it might bring him to see the vision of the child embracing him at home in Slumbershire.

You thank the Lady Maeve for the gift,

And she nods silently.

As you walk back to the courtyard,

Side by side with the Queen,

She invites you and your company to stay for as many nights as you wish,

To rest and recover before restarting your journey.

However,

She advises that you not stay too long,

For the fragrance of the moon flower and the comfort of the lodgings can,

In time,

Overpower even the strongest will.

You have important business,

And you might be swayed to remain here indefinitely.

You ask sheepishly if,

Since the Queen can apparently move the forest at will,

She could magically transport you to the threshold of your journey's destination.

Lady Maeve laughs,

Admiring your enterprise.

Alas,

She admits there are some limits to her power.

And besides,

The protective enchantments placed upon Dreamwood generations ago forbid her to move the forest too close to the enemy.

You have a challenging journey ahead,

Surely,

But it's one only you are equipped to complete.

The tender glissando of the harp fills your ears as you reach the courtyard.

A lull of sleepiness has fallen over the company.

Ears are limp,

Eyelids are drooping.

Lady Maeve calls for her sentries and instructs them to show her guests to their quarters for sleep.

It's now that your own exhaustion,

Suspended thus far in the awe and curiosity of reverend,

Returns to your body.

Your muscles groan and ache for sleep.

The sentries usher you from the palace and back to the spiral stair in its glimmering arcade.

As you descend the stairway,

The group splits apart.

First Branwyn is led off onto a gossamer bridge,

Then Brilig,

Then Sharca,

And Lothian,

Each destined for their private quarters.

Only you and Matherluk remain,

And soon he splits off too.

You wish each other a tender good night.

You'll tell him all about your private audience with Lady Maeve in the morning.

You follow the final sentry across a covered tree bridge now toward your rooms.

You're taken to a secluded treehouse and left alone to take your rest.

Moonlight spills upon the floors and the bed at the center of the treehouse.

At the sight of a comfortable place to sleep,

Your body sags and your mind swims.

It's impossible to conceive that only hours before,

You and your companions were wandering a dreadful waste.

You're grateful that Lady Maeve took pity on you and opened her mysterious woods.

It's a blessing to be surrounded by nature,

To have lungs full of clean,

Fragrant air.

You slide into the bed,

Letting your body sink into the center of it.

You feel small in the expanse of the bed and also in the grandeur of reverend.

In fact,

You feel small in the wideness of the world.

You think of Branwyn's story of tragic lovers and how distant it feels from your experience in Slumbershire.

You think of Brilig's devotion to old gods whose names you can't even pronounce.

You think of Sharca,

Huntress of forests you may never see,

Of Lothian whose influence stretches the wide world over,

Of Maviloc,

Your closest friend,

Whose musical gifts charmed the queen of Dreamwood and of a boat in a harbor heading west.

There is so much,

You think,

Your eyes falling closed.

So much in this world,

So many stories.

You are only a small part of the story.

It was started long before you arrived here and it will continue long after you depart.

But you are,

Nonetheless,

An important part of the story.

Milky moonlight falls over a latticework of tree limbs,

Chambers,

And stairway arcades.

Then at the heart of Dreamwood sleeps,

The trees themselves exhale.

You are,

Nonetheless,

An important part of the story.

Before you,

A basin of cool,

Clear water.

Clear as crystal.

See your reflection in the water.

Notice your features.

What color are your eyes?

Are you smiling?

Follow my voice.

As soon as you hear my prompt,

Imagine or visualize them on the surface of the water.

Don't think too much about them.

Consider and let the images come to you without editing them.

Just let them arrive.

Then let them go.

Pale pink moon.

Pale moon over a lake.

Blossoms on the vine.

Soft grass.

Soft green grass in the moonlight.

Freshly fallen snow,

Footsteps in the snow,

Melting snow.

Secret waterfall.

Forest glade.

Redwoods.

Nothing due.

Dew frosted flowers.

Safe space.

Quiet morning.

Rainy Sunday.

Party tree.

Rushing river.

Sunny afternoon.

Sunset on the harbor.

Wide horizon.

Ocean waves.

Mungan treasure.

Distant lands.

Misty mountains.

Forest stream.

Inlit palace.

Enchanted forest.

Will of the wisp.

Glowing crystal.

Safe place.

A quiet,

Safe place.

Good night.

Reviews

I adore your stories! Please make more available to non-plus members! ❤️

thought it was kinda funny - when you said safe space, I thought of a white padded room. when you said quiet safe space, I thought of a straight jacket in a white padded room 😅

Thank you. From what I heard great story. Got me to sleep before it finished.

Creative and soothing

Another great and relaxing story.

P. S. Laurel,

Did you get the message I wrote and that Tech Support forwarded to you about one of the other recordings?

-Dave Pettit

Fabulous as always. Asleep well before the end. Really well paced and so calming, when showing a friend today I had to switch it off as just your hearing voice made me feel sleepy! Thank you 🙏

Fantastic storytelling. Beautifully read and presented.

Wonderful

Really great balance of story, ambience, and relaxation. I was intrigued by the characters, enjoyed the back story, and curios about what would happen next. But unlike some other stories where I'm so invested that I can't fall asleep, instead I was happy to drift off

The voice and tone works for me. The pace of the story is very relaxing. I never make it to the end. Thank you.

An enchanting story to rest with. A spell to bring on sleep and heal the heart. Thank you.

I love your stories and your voice. Thank you so much ❤️🌙❤️

Your sleep stories are amazing. Thank you so much 😊

I listen to a sleep and sorcery story most nights, they are amazing, I never remember much of the story but I’ve been sleeping well and waking up so much easier! Thank you so much 🥰👏💕

Lovely floating tale. Pace is soothing and very relaxing . Sends me off to sleep

Another wonderful story narrated lovingly in a soothing voice with perfect pace. 💖