songstress

The dream came to him again.

The elegant elf-maid beckoning him closer, gesturing with her lithe arm to sit before her and grant her his full attention. He began to follow her direction, but paused before he crouched to take his place as the times before.

There was a faint scent of flowers around her this time. He could not place the type, but he knew that she had not a fragrance the times he had dreamt of her before. It perplexed him, and he knew that this time, he would finally seek answers to sate his mounting curiosity.

Again he sat within a tiny, neat home, welcomed in by the ethereal grace of the same elf-maid that came to his dreams before. She only ever spoke what few words were needed to direct his movement or attention; the rest of his time in her company was filled by her soft, honeyed voice intoning songs and poems of places and folk long left to legend.

As the traveler's eyes fluttered open, he realized that he had the same dream again. It was broad daylight now, and he righted himself from where he'd lain against a sapling planted in the town hall courtyard. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and grasped his rucksack, just in time to shove off before an oncoming guard ordered him to.