The weather in the Gloamril forest was prone to change quickly. The sun now shone brightly in the south from a wide stretch of blue sky and it felt quite balmy, despite it being the second day of half-light. This was not unusual for the Gloamril; it seemed to have a weather all of its own.
The appearance of the sun had lifted the party’s spirits and Shrew found herself recalling an old Sillaesian saying –
‘When the snow doth pile against Highfall’s walls, summer still sings in the Gloamril’.
Waylan shook his head. “You cannot trust the small fey folk of these woods, sire. They are fickle, mischievous creatures, but flattery and gifts can sometimes get their attention. It was fortunate you had that talisman with you. It loosened her born-name from her tongue. Once you had that, she was compelled to listen to your request.”
It was goldfall and, as the season suggested, many of the leafy crowns of the Gloamril forest were golden, but others remained green or dazzled with various colours from orange red through to a pale powder blue and violet.