Late at night, in a small cabin in Arlathan forest. An elf holds a swaddled baby in his arms. Swaying from side to side as he tries to guide the baby back to sleep.
A quiet melody leaves his lips. Filling the room he built with his own hands with even more warmth.
Rook leans on the doorframe with a painfully fond look on their face as they quietly listen on. Not wanting to alert their lover of their presence.
Finally, they know what Davrin sounded like when he sang to the halla in his childhood.













