I'll tell you about this clearing in my forest.

On a clear night—ah, just like tonight—the moon was round and large, and the white moonlight reflected silky fluff on the star-shaped leaves, and the nocturnal blooming Seron flowers transformed my clearing into a magical wonderland.

Travelers passing by may catch the scent of a distant continent in the wind. Ethereal, but sultry! The spicy scent of the desert, the scorching sun, and the saltiness of the waves are all mixed with the evergreen scent of the highland fir sap. You may think that such a graceful description is too strange that only a hopelessly lover, or a lovesick poet, can say it. You're right, but these words don't make them false.

Since we're talking about elegance – an artistic soul who, if you come at the right time, might see the dappled shadow of the moon dancing gently under the canopy of the forest. Their eyes may look around with that dance step, and gradually perceive the harmony of light and shadow between the trees, or the harmony of the ripples of the pool. The scene here seems to be about to form some kind of doorway, but it seems to be almost complete.

However, no matter how these lights and shadows rotate, they can never merge into a complete form. Almost forever, to be exact. After all, the magic of these lands is hard to wield – and for good reason – and never reveals its secrets to anyone. We natural spirits are always drawn to this kind of place. Magic nourishes us, and we in turn nourish magic. We can be found all over the world - it's easier to find in certain places, but as long as the magic starts to converge, I guess you'll be able to find elves like me.

Without modesty, the clearing I inhabit has the richest amount of magic, and there is no place to match it in this land that mortals call Noxus—provided you know how to observe. Most of the inhabitants of this world have forgotten how to really observe. But there are also different people, it should be said that it is a whole ethnic group, and they have never forgotten. They are called yodelers, and rather, they are not from this world. Many yodelers are my friends.

Now two yodelers are approaching. It sounds like they want to get back to their compatriots, but their "key" – I don't know if there's a better word to describe it – seems to be out of order. You can't find your way home without a key. You know, the path they're going to take isn't on the surface of this world. The route is also not straight, and it is very different from the way the inhabitants walk here. The path they walked was twisted and tangled, like an unbreakable knot that swirled wildly in place.

Most yodelers can easily figure out these paths, but what's wrong with these two guys?

Let's just say they're not the best travel companions. I could hear their voices coming through the curtain of the spiritual realm, like a pair of hungry foxes bickering.

They're going to be here soon. But I wonder if they know that there are other people coming.

A group of mortals is also approaching. It's a group of fighters. Clad in steel and rock, he holds the instrument of death. I don't like them, but don't get me wrong – I understand the necessity of death, which is an important part of the natural life cycle, but these people just blindly take it and never return it. They paved the ground with unbent roads and cleared the land with axes and saws. They are angular and orderly, order-abiding empires. The trees bent their branches away from them, but they didn't notice it unsurprisingly.

Mortals will never notice the impact they have on the world around them.

A woman with long brown hair was the first to set foot on my turf. She tapped the horse's flank with the spur of her heel and rode around the field, scanning the trees and the ground for signs that might be life-threatening.

Her eyes were grim, and the way she looked at these beautiful trees was like a woodcutter sharpening an axe.

She reined in her horse in the middle of the clearing and sat quietly in the saddle. She listened to the song of the warbler, the sigh of the forest, the gurgling stream, and the pebbles that flowed through the vicissitudes of life. Most of the people who come here are soothed by these voices, and they feel like their souls are being fed whenever they are there.

But she's different.

The energy of the forest could not touch her, and I didn't know whether to feel sad or angry. The woman was patient, and it took several minutes before she raised a hand and spread her fingers. After a while, more than a dozen cavalrymen appeared on the edge of the clearing. Their horses were tired, their heads hung limply, and their sides were whipped white. They carried riders for thousands of miles, so I poured a little magic into their limbs. They hissed and shook their manes in gratitude.

A bearded man in a fur coat rode towards the woman. A brass ring holds his long black beard together, and his tunic is clearly cut to show off the lines of his muscles. He wore a wolfskin cloak over his shoulders and a pair of ring-handled battle axes on his back. His gaze was the same as that of the woman. I can't help but worry about the trees.

Yes, I think I hate him more than that woman.

"Tamara, why have you been so long?" He said, "Are you still afraid of someone in ambush?" ”

She ignored his question. "We should set up camp here, Draven. There is a water source and the forest is very dense. Moreover, the terrain is open and easy to guard. ”

"Well said, War Stonemason of Noxus."

"Why is it so ugly to come out of your mouth?"

As soon as she slid off the saddle, and as soon as her boots touched the ground, I immediately felt the stubborn stone in her veins and the steel in her soul, and I shrank back in shock. The voices in the clearing muted, but no human noticed.

"If we don't hurry back to the capital, we'll die of old age." "The battle in Besilico was kind of interesting, but I had to go back to the arena and use the axes." ”

"The army of Darius, under your leadership, marched forward without the detection of the war stonemasons. Are you going to report to Darius like this? ”

"There will be no danger," said Draven, "this is the hinterland of the Empire." ”

She crossed her arms: "Have you heard that Wintoli is out in Drekan City?" ”

"No," Draven shrugged, "but you were about to tell me, right?" ”

She looked at him, sighed and shook her head, "What's the use?" It's not you who has an accident, and you definitely won't care. ”

I heard them belittle each other a few times, but I couldn't understand why their words weren't at all like the shimmering colors of their aura. I've always been very confused by this, and mortals spend a lot of time saying things that go against their hearts, hiding their true feelings.

Nature has always been honest. Although with gore, it will never lie to you.

When it was dark, the two yodelers arrived.

I felt an irresistible call from their keys, and I pushed a little bit of power into the spiritual realm, opening the pathway. A silverbark tree twisted its branches slightly in the wind, and the last rays of sunlight drew the last strokes on her moss-strewn trunk, completing the shimmering amber pattern. The combination of light, shadow, and bulging bark forms an endless loop that looks like a portal to the land of eternal sunrise when viewed from a particular angle and height.

The doorframe emerging from the core of the tree echoed with whispers and songs. It sounds like the wind in the forest is talking, passing secrets from tree to tree. The Noxians were settling their horses, and the animals were making enough noise to make humans inaudible to the subtle sound. Maybe it is – you never really know what the wind is talking about. Well, maybe the bluebird of the sea knows, but she'll never come all the way from the sunken city now.

The grass under the silverbark tree undulates like a wave, and the warm breeze tells the story of another realm. I've heard hundreds of stories, but the yodelers always have new stories to tell, and I never get tired of hearing them about their journeys.