The place not of our world, a looking glass into his imagination. The sprites dance to the sound of the sylvan spring solace, spinning, twirling, exhaustion is inconceivable. Blackberry Tart, Cranberry Crisp and Cedar Smoke, say their names and they disappear. He awakes to a dark familiar room and realizes he is home wrapped warmly in his blankets listening to the sound of fresh rain.
Bright splashes of rouge color, the burgundy sunset spreads over charming waterfalls trickling into hidden, forbidden ponds. Tall, thin and a bit awkward. A youth of sixteen ruled by curiosity.